


Brooklyn Baby

by grimeysociety



Series: Hollywood [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adolescent Sexuality, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Wanda Maximoff, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cancer, Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Consensual Underage Sex, Darcy Lewis Is a Good Bro, Drug Abuse, F/M, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, I wrote this for me so welcome to Hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Kid Fic, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Acceptance, Steve Rogers Feels, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Steve Rogers, Unrequited Love, Zero the Cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-07-25 02:08:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 83,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20024815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimeysociety/pseuds/grimeysociety
Summary: Steve Rogers is a best-selling comic book writer and artist. His semi-autobiographical graphic novel was adapted to the screen by himself and the eccentric Academy Award-winning director Stephen Strange, starring Steve's childhood best friend James Barnes. Steve has the final leg of his European tour promoting his book ending in the United Kingdom, and an old friend from his art school exchange program offers to catch up. Steve can only stay so busy before his personal life suffers for it, and he knows he's lonely, and he knows that deep down he's been denying something his whole life.





	1. Part One: Bronze

**Author's Note:**

> Let me preface this by saying this is not in any way an anti-Steggy fic. I will say though that it doesn't end with Steve and Peggy together. I was desperate to write another fic for my Hollywood AU, and I haven't written a bisexual character in a long time. This will be a heavy read and I will write disclaimers for each chapter as we go on.
> 
> I am so excited to share with you the flashbacks of Steve and Bucky before Bucky was famous.
> 
> For the... dozen of you stopping by, thank you. I know I'm writing this purely for my own entertainment but you're so very welcome, too.
> 
> I have been teasing this shit for weeks on my Tumblr, but I ultimately decided to make this AU a trilogy. Eventually I will be writing a spin-off story with Stephen Strange. I have. SO. MANY. IDEAS.
> 
> A closeted bisexual Steve Rogers? YES PLEASE. Adorable friendships spanning decades? YES PLEASE. Bucky and Darcy married with a baby? YES PLEASE.
> 
> ZERO THE CAT???!!! FUCK YEAAAAAAAHHHHH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me preface this by saying this is not in any way an anti-Steggy fic. I will say though that it doesn't end with Steve and Peggy together. I was desperate to write another fic for my Hollywood AU, and I haven't written a bisexual character in a long time. This will be a heavy read and I will write disclaimers for each chapter as we go on.
> 
> I am so excited to share with you the flashbacks of Steve and Bucky before Bucky was famous.
> 
> For the... dozen of you stopping by, thank you. I know I'm writing this purely for my own entertainment but you're so very welcome, too.
> 
> I have been teasing this shit for weeks on my Tumblr, but I ultimately decided to make this AU a trilogy. Eventually I will be writing a spin-off story with Stephen Strange. I have. SO. MANY. IDEAS.
> 
> A closeted bisexual Steve Rogers? YES PLEASE. Adorable friendships spanning decades? YES PLEASE. Bucky and Darcy married with a baby? YES PLEASE.
> 
> ZERO THE CAT???!!! FUCK YEAAAAAAAHHHHH

_Here I go, here I go, here I go again (again?)_  
_Girls, what's my weakness?_  
_Men!_

\- "Shoop" by Salt-N-Pepa

**Part One: Bronze**

“All your stories are autobiographical?”

“To some extent, yeah. I would say it’s the same for most writers, if not all of us. We write about ourselves or the people in our lives.”

“Even your Batman saga, with Bruce Wayne traveling back in time to be in a vaudeville act with Robin?”

Steve gave a short chuckle. “Yeah, I mean – even the most ludicrous of backgrounds have some kind of reality to them, something that translates to an audience of the present day.”

“Context.”

“Yes, thank you,” Steve said.

He was currently sitting at a table with a microphone in front of him in a Barnes & Noble in Greenwich Village, with close to two hundred people sitting in plastic chairs facing him. It was the last appearance and Q&A event he was attending as part of his US book tour. It had meant months of traveling, talking, meeting people and selling his wares. His book sales had skyrocketed since the release of the movie adaptation of his latest graphic novel.

Steve was getting sick of answering the same questions all the time. He knew why it kept happening - he had a childhood best friend who was an Oscar-winning actor and producer. People wondered how much of _Brooklyn Baby_ was based off of real-life events of James Barnes’ life.

Steve had only ever known him as Bucky.

His publishers had decided to re-release _There Is A Light That Never Goes Out_ with the subtitle _The_ _Story That Inspired Stephen Strange’s Brooklyn Baby._ It might have been considered a cash grab, but there were plenty of plates in the new edition that may not have ever seen the light of day.

The emcee for the event’s name was Paige and she pointed to another young woman whose hand was up.

“Yes?”

“This isn’t exactly related to the book,” the woman said. She kept staring at Steve, and he nodded, wondering where this was about to go.

“Okay,” he said, running his hand up his leg to his knee. It was a habit of his.

“You’re single, right?”

The room erupted in laughter and Steve felt his cheeks blush. He ducked his head and the woman asking giggled, shrugging.

“Hey, when else was I going to get the opportunity to ask?”

“That’s fair enough,” Steve replied. He cleared his throat. “Yeah… I’m single.”

“Okay, cool!” she said, biting her lip. “Thank you.”

“That’s okay.”

The emcee shot Steve an apologetic look. He didn’t mind. He supposed it was meant to be flattering, but he hadn’t had the time to go on a date in what felt like forever. If he wasn’t doing press, he was trying to stay on top of planning new things to draw or write, or he was on a plane.

Or he was sleeping.

The emcee pointed to a middle-aged guy. Steve was still distracted by the woman who last spoke. She was whispering with the person next to her, glancing down at each other’s phones.

Steve rolled his shoulders, nodding at the guy asking about something to do with adapting other graphic novels.

“I would be up for that,” Steve replied.

It was the answer he usually gave. Hollywood had come knocking more than once, and he got the Academy Award nomination alongside Strange earlier that year since they adapted the screenplay together. Bucky could also have been nominated for it, but he never gave himself the credit for that one. It made Steve wonder how often actors held re-write a movie and were never recognized for it.

The last year had been a steep learning curve, and not just because he’d only been to L.A. a handful of times in the past. He was being invited to luncheons with film execs. People wanted him to meet interesting people so he could write about them. Women started recognizing him and talking to him. Bucky was no longer the only person fans wanted to get pictures with in the street, which Steve knew Bucky hated to begin with.

RKB came to him just the other week with an idea for a sitcom and he didn’t even bother giving them a reply – those assholes seemed to have completely forgotten what they’d done to Bucky. Steve wasn’t about to work with the studios who got off on making their actors suffer. He heard someone else had signed on to the project within days.

“Last question. Yes, sir – you with the black t-shirt.”

“Would you consider writing a sequel to _There Is A Light_?” asked a tall guy with black glasses.

“Yeah,” Steve said. He cleared his throat.

The line for the book signing was long enough for Steve to anticipate his hand hurting by the end of the night, so he probably wasn’t going to get any work done when he finally got home. He was grateful, he really was. These people paid tickets to see him talk about a book that had already been out for a year and it was a Wednesday night.

The woman who asked if he was single came up and he smiled at her. She was cute, and the name he read on the Post-It she’d placed on her copy of his book to sign read _Lisa._

“Lisa, thank you for coming,” Steve said, and she beamed.

“You know, my friend –”

She glanced behind her and pointed at her friend before glancing back at Steve.

“- they dared me to ask,” Lisa said.

He flipped open the book and signed it for her, and she took it from him, her eyes lingering on his.

“I’m married,” she confessed.

“Right,” Steve said, and he shrugged. “Too bad.”

Lisa smirked. “Yeah.”

If he was honest, she didn’t interest him much. Not because he didn’t admire how forward she was - but because her friend behind her was the one who caught his attention.

“Hey.”

Steve took the book as Lisa wandered out of the line, walking toward people Steve assumed were her friends. Steve glanced down at the Post-It.

 _Mason._ He had bronze skin and hazel eyes. His lips were full and pulling into a hesitant smile, hands going to his jean pockets.

“I really, really love your stuff,” he said.

Occasionally, well, if he was honest – _often_ – Steve got this same feeling. It was a flutter in his stomach, the skin on his face felt like it was prickling. Sometimes he felt himself grow hot and hyper-aware of the person he was looking at. He watched the way Mason looked back at him and he felt himself smile.

“Thank you.”

“I just – yeah. Read your stuff for years,” Mason went on, and Steve nodded.

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, and Mason went pink.

“God, that’s so hard to choose!” he said, and he laughed. He sounded nervous, and a thrill ran through Steve then, that he made a grown man act that way. A grown man who looked like _that_.

Steve ducked his head, averting his gaze to the book to write the name and sign it.

“It’s okay, you can say _Hellscape_.”

The majority of Steve’s male readers – he hated the term fanbase – were interested in his _Hellscape_ series the most.

Mason chuckled, sheepish. “Yeah, it’s _Hellscape_. Guess I’m like everyone else.”

“You’re not,” Steve said, shaking his head.

He handed back the book and Mason smiled again. It was like trying to stare into the sun.

“Anyway, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve replied.

He watched Mason walk away and join his friends. Steve felt his stomach flip, and he turned his gaze back to the line of people waiting and beckoned the next person forward.

-

He woke the next morning before dawn, and it didn’t surprise him, considering his current roommate liked to sit on his chest.

He rubbed his eyes, staring down at the black cat who was purring, his little feet tucked under his bulk so he resembled a fluffy black cloud with green eyes.

“Hey, buddy.”

Zero nuzzled one of Steve’s hands as he scratched behind his ears. Steve couldn’t be mad at him if he tried. Not even when he licked his thumb and then chomped it playfully.

“Ow, stop.”

He chuckled, and Zero licked his other fingers, marking him with his scent. Steve pulled back his cover and cuddled him to his chest as he made his way out the door to the living room and kitchen.

Zero climbed onto his shoulder as he made coffee and toast. Steve took his phone off the charger and checked his messages, seeing several new emails.

None from Strange. Not surprising, considering he told Steve that Zero was staying with him indefinitely as he traveled. The director with seemingly constant galaxy brain was trying to empty himself of the old inspirations of his life. Steve thought maybe Strange should call it what it actually was – a vacation – but the Brit insisted he was not taking a break, he was already working out new ideas.

Steve ate and sat down at his desk, scrunching up a ball of paper for Zero to play with as he looked over some drafts he’d started a few days ago. He had one idea for a story about a colony living underwater. Some kind of steampunk thing but he didn’t have the plot fully formed. Even thinking about drafting a story line right now was exhausting, so he decided to procrastinate committing to anything by doodling some ideas and posting them to his Twitter feed.

His phone buzzed a couple hours later when he’d started answering emails and drank more coffee. The city was louder and Zero was stretched out at Steve’s feet in the sun, looking blissful.

Steve unlocked his phone and saw a photo of Bucky with baby Natalie in his arms, the pair of them slack-jawed and fast asleep. Darcy sent it.

 _I’m tempted to Photoshop Bucky’s face onto Nats’ and send it back to you,_ Steve replied.

 _Do it and I’ll make it worth your while_ , Darcy sent back instantly.

_Deal_

Steve opened his laptop and made the new phone background for Darcy in less than five minutes, sending it back with a new photo of Zero in the sun.

_You can come for dinner tonight for your services_

Steve smiled.

_What can I bring?_

_Just bring your damn cute self_ , Darcy threw back.

Steve looked at the photo of Bucky and Natalie sleeping together. Steve knew he liked babies, and with his goddaughter he was bound to be biased, but she was a beautiful little thing. She looked so much like Bucky and Darcy. Again, this was something that was bound to happen but it still made Steve stop in stunned silence every so often, especially after the years Bucky spent not being truly serious about anyone he dated.

From what Steve could tell, Darcy came out of nowhere and knocked him over, and he was glad.

-

Darcy was the one to open the door when he arrived that night, beaming up at him. She pulled him into a hug and kissed him on his cheek.

Steve could hear automated sounds coming from beyond and he smiled.

“You guys sick of that one yet?”

“ _Old Macdonald Had A Farm?_ ” Darcy said, and he followed her down the hallway. “She presses the buttons so many times it starts over and over again like it’s a dubstep remix.”

“She might wanna be a DJ,” Steve said, and Darcy laughed.

“God.”

They walked into the living room and Bucky was lying on his side, watching Natalie sitting and smashing the buttons on a toy Steve bought her a few weeks ago when he came back from a writers convention in Phoenix.

“I’ll take the batteries out soon,” Darcy whispered, and Bucky shook his head.

“She’ll cry.”

“Oof, then I guess I should buy earplugs, huh?” Darcy said, and she leaned down to kiss Natalie’s head.

Bucky got up to hug Steve and clapped him on the back.

“What’s up?”

They departed for the kitchen and Bucky got them both a beer and they sat at the counter while Natalie kept playing with her toy in the other room.

“Going to Europe in a few days,” Steve said, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m already tired.”

Bucky’s lips quirked. “Next time write something shitty you won’t have to promote.”

Steve shoved his arm. “’Cause that worked out for you so well?”

“Fuckin’ punk,” Bucky muttered in return, but he was smiling.

Steve liked that they could talk about _Time Shell_ now. It was an unwritten rule between them to never bring it up since it was such an embarrassment to Bucky. Steve drank his beer and shrugged.

The doorbell rang and Bucky looked confused, Darcy appearing a few seconds later with Natalie in her arms. She handed her to Steve.

“Here, catch.”

Steve obliged, Bucky trying to grab Darcy’s hand before she slipped out. Steve could make out some of what they were saying to each other in hushed tones:

“It’s not the worst idea, baby.”

“That doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“They’re friends, they like each other!”

“He woulda asked her out…”

Natalie looked up at Steve. Sometimes she remembered him, but usually when he was left alone with her she’d grizzle. As if on cue, her chin began to wobble and Steve’s eyes widened.

“Hey, Nats, it’s me. It’s okay. It’s okay, honey…”

Natalie began to wail and Steve shushed her as gently as he could, until Bucky appeared again with Darcy.

And Wanda.

“What did you do to her?” Bucky said, chuckling. He came over to take his daughter back. “Daddy’s here, baby. Was Uncle Steve pickin’ on ya?”

“I was set up,” Steve muttered.

There was a pause and Wanda came back to life, laughing awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve said, coming forward to kiss her cheek. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“You guys have catching up to do, so we’ll just –” Darcy was gesturing to Bucky and her husband’s eyebrows hiked as he bounced Natalie up and down.

Steve knew this would happen sooner or later. Darcy was always saying little comments about Wanda, like how _nice_ it was that she went to the same art school as Steve, and how _nice_ it was that they both were Natalie’s godparents. How _nice_ it was that Wanda was single and very pretty and very smart.

Wanda laughed when they were alone. Steve shook his head.

“I thought she could act.”

“She’s not on the clock right now,” Wanda said, shrugging.

“How’ve you been?” Steve asked.

The last time he saw Wanda was New Year’s Eve, more than six months ago.

“Oh, you know. I’ve got three clients, now. And I’ve got a girl who answers the phone for me when I’m out of the office.”

“Up and up,” Steve replied, and she nodded with a smile.

“Yeah. You?”

“Busy.”

She nodded, a knowing look on her face. She had the advantage of being in the Hollywood machine without actually being in it.

“They’re trying to set us up,” Steve added after a beat.

Wanda laughed. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell them about us before?”

Steve shrugged. He didn’t know if Bucky or Darcy had to know that. He didn’t know if Wanda was comfortable with them knowing they tried dating once, years and years ago. He and Wanda did know each other from art school, but not because they had classes together. She was eight or so years younger than he and Bucky, and Steve met her through a graduate program he spoke at.

They hit it off, but they knew it was better if they stayed friends. They were both a little too messy to properly date. They kissed a couple of times but that was it. Whenever Steve thought of that time he got embarrassed, because of the way he acted with Wanda. He remembered getting drunk one night with her and everything spilled out.

She knew about Peggy. He knew about Pietro.

Wanda glanced away now, swallowing.

“Let’s humor them,” she murmured with a shrug.

“Darcy will book the wedding reception if we give her an inch,” Steve countered.

“For old time’s sake?” Wanda replied, and he grimaced. She frowned. “Jeez, I was really that bad?”

Steve realized his mistake.

“No. _No_ , God, no. I meant… _me_.”

They had dinner, sitting together at the table with Darcy and Bucky opposite them. Natalie was put to bed and they opened a bottle of wine, the two women talking about a TV show neither Bucky or Steve ever heard of and they went back to the kitchen.

“You hear from Stephen?” Bucky asked.

Steve snorted. “No. God. Where does he even go?”

“You mean physically…” Bucky fished out a cigarette and put it between his lips. “Or metaphysically?”

Steve thought he meant both and he shrugged. “I should write about him. At least a short series for my blog or somethin’. _The Adventures of Stephen Strange_.”

“It’d be a saga,” Bucky said. “And then he’d make you write the screenplay with him.”

He ducked out to the balcony, leaving Steve in the kitchen while he smoked a cigarette. Steve went to the refrigerator to retrieve another couple beers and he opened them. He scrolled through Twitter for a few minutes, and then Bucky came back.

“Here,” Steve motioned for Bucky to take the drink but he shook his head.

“I’m good.”

That confused Steve. Bucky was always one to drink a few beers with him. He could drink anyone under a table, it didn’t matter what kind of liquor.

“Oh, okay.”

Was he finally doing one of those bullshit cleanses Steve had heard about? Was Bucky going to start buying crystals, too, and talk about Kabballah?

“I shouldn’t,” Bucky added, and he bit his lip for a second, hesitating.

“You pregnant?” Steve joked, because Bucky looked a little uneasy.

“I’m uh, on some pills.”

Steve’s eyes widened a fraction. “You mean -?”

“Anti… depressant,” Bucky murmured. He cleared his throat. “Anti-depressants. They knock me out pretty bad ‘cause I’m still gettin’ used to ‘em. I can’t operate heavy machinery, shit like that.”

“Right, ‘cause you’ve got that forklift license and all,” Steve said dryly, and Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah. I take ‘em at night to help me sleep, too.”

“Okay.”

They fall silent for a few moments and Bucky pushes the bottle toward Steve.

“You have that.”

Bucky’s demeanor changed again, his fingers carding through his hair. He looked younger then, his blue eyes vulnerable when he glanced back at Steve.

“I love you, Steve.”

He hardly ever said that. The last time he said it was when he asked Steve to be Natalie’s godfather. Steve felt his heart squeeze in his chest, and he gave a little smile.

“Love you, too, buddy.”

-

The first thing Steve saw when he met Bucky was his big blue eyes.

He was taller than Steve. Everyone was, but he didn’t talk down to him. In fact, he sized him up like he was a potential threat. They were standing in a gymnasium in Brooklyn at the start of the summer. It was a camp for boys without fathers, and it was Steve’s first year there since his mom had only recently heard about it. It seemed like there were already cliques formed from the previous summer, so he and Bucky were the only ones standing aside from the little groups huddling.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve replied. Bucky looked pissed off, a mean look on his face. Steve tried his best not to seem scared, but he knew Bucky could probably break his nose.

He wore a wife beater and cargo shorts, his hair sticking up. His bare arms were tanned with marks all over them. Everything about Bucky seemed put on, but his eyes were too expressive to be cold, as if he was giving away his true nature. He narrowed those eyes at Steve.

“You play basketball?”

Steve knew the right answer was yes, but it was a lie. He was usually never allowed to play with the other kids on his block. He was excluded, usually because he was too small and considered fragile. No kid wanted to be responsible for him. He was considered a nuisance, and when he didn’t take the hint he was shoved away. It didn’t stop Steve from saving up for his own ball to play with, the one that he held under one bony arm that Bucky nodded at.

“Yeah,” he replied. “You?”

Bucky’s eyebrows lifted in a challenge. “Duh. Come on.”

They walked off together to the nearest hoop and started taking shots, the ball passing back and forth.

“What’s your name?” Bucky asked eventually.

In a lot of ways, he was Steve’s visual opposite. He was taller, with brown hair and tanned skin. Steve was ghostly pale with blonde hair. Also, he liked to smile. He got the feeling Bucky hadn’t smiled in a while.

“Steve.”

“Bucky,” he replied.

“Bucky?” he repeated, his nose scrunching. It sounded like something you’d name your horse.

“Yeah, what about it?”

He threw the ball back hard enough to make Steve stumble when he caught it but he didn’t fall over. He scored a second later, frowning at Bucky.

“Nothin’. Just sounds made up.”

“It’s my middle name. There’s like, five Jimmys in my class,” Bucky says. He missed the net and tutted, Steve catching the ball and dribbling it back to pass it to him to have another turn.

Bucky scored on his second try, the briefest smile on his face.

“How old are you?”

“Seven and three quarters,” Steve answered, and Bucky didn’t seem convinced.

“Okay. You’re kinda short.”

“I _am_ short,” Steve retorted. He wasn’t about to apologize for it, and Bucky shrugged.

“Maybe you’ll have a growth spurt.”

It’s what Steve’s mom said whenever he felt self-conscious. He’d get the same look on his face and he didn’t have to explain himself. The last time it happened was when she bought him new sneakers. Well, semi-new. They were at the Goodwill and only needed a little scrubbing with bleach. Steve knew his feet were small and he wasn’t growing anywhere near as fast as his doctor hoped.

Steve started to go a little pink and sweaty. That happened easily. Bucky didn’t seem bothered. He didn’t even stare as he got out his inhaler to suck in the Ventolin.

“You good?” he muttered.

“Yeah.”

They played together for the rest of the day, and it was like they knew each other way longer. Bucky didn’t ask too many questions, never made fun of him to be mean. When Bucky joked around, it was usually the jackass kind of humor Steve saw on TV when his mom watched _Cheers_.

“We got a regular Picasso here, huh?” Bucky said, nudging Steve with his elbow when they did art together after lunch.

They were meant to be drawing something they were looking forward to for their summer, and Steve chose Coney Island. He was trying to draw something from memory but he thought he did a pretty good job of the view from the Ferris wheel he was on last summer.

Bucky’s drawing was of a movie ticket and a box of popcorn, but he was more interested in what Steve was up to.

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve muttered back, and they giggled together.

At the end of the day their moms came to pick them up and Bucky hung around with Steve, his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders.

Steve spotted his mom coming and he smiled, waving. He remembered Bucky and looked at him, wondering if he was about to tear him down.

“Your mom’s pretty,” Bucky said, and Steve was relieved, so relieved his new friend was as nice as he hoped him to be. “Like… really pretty.”

“Hey, Stevie, who’s this?”

Sarah Rogers beamed at Bucky, who’s cheeks had gone a little pink.

“Mom, this is Bucky.”

“Hey,” Bucky said, and he offered his hand, which made Sarah laugh.

“What a little gentleman!” she said, and she took his hand to shake. “You waitin’ for your mommy, too?”

“She’s probably finishin’ her shift now.”

“I just got off work, too. We can wait with you.”

Sarah glanced at Steve and he nodded. He wasn’t embarrassed by her. He usually got those comments from other kids, that his mom was pretty. He knew she had him really young, so she looked kind of out of place among the other moms who showed up.

“Good first day?” she asked, and Steve nodded.

He pulled out his picture of Coney Island and she took it, her mouth falling open.

“Oh, my goodness! This is beautiful.”

Steve shrugged. “I got it a little messed up –”

“Don’t be a punk,” Bucky muttered. “It’s good.”

Sarah glanced at Bucky, her eyes looking him up and down and a smile formed on her lips again.

“Show me yours.”

He pulled out his own drawing, and she smiled.

“You like goin’ to the movies, Bucky?”

He nodded, his eyes lighting up. “I wanna see _Speed_ , but my mom won’t let me.”

Steve looked at his mom, hopeful. Sarah winked at Bucky.

“Maybe I’ll talk to your mom about comin’ with us to see it on the weekend.”

“YES, PLEASE!”

Steve smiled so wide at Bucky’s unbridled joy and Sarah laughed.

Bucky was telling Sarah about their first day for a solid half hour until he stopped mid sentence as a woman wearing a green uniform came up to them.

“Ma, this is Steve and Steve’s mom and Steve’s mom said I can go see _Speed_ with her and Steve and-”

“Hey, slow down, slow down,” the woman chided, and her eyes met Sarah’s, a smile forming. “Hi, I’m Judith.”

“Sarah,” Sarah replied. “That’s my boy, Stevie.”


	2. Part Two: Hot Pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the comments and the kudos for this new story. I'm so very grateful for those who chose to stick with this AU. 
> 
> This part will make everything a lot darker, and I'm warning you now that it only gets worse before it gets better. **Homophobia is rampant in Steve's middle school years (and a little earlier), and I think it's kinder for me to warn you of that.** I'm not about to spoon feed you, either. It's the late 1990s and people weren't exactly... woke. Trust me, I was there. Being bi sucked.

_I need I need some sympathy_  
_Look at me_  
_I just can't believe_  
_What they've done to me_  
_We could never get free_

\- "Get Free" by Major Lazer

**Part Two: Hot Pink**

Steve felt a little better knowing that his appearances when he got to Paris were far smaller in terms of audiences than those back home, mostly because he was afraid of getting RSI from signing books. This was, in his – frankly - _right_ opinion, a rich author problem.

Steve spoke limited French. He knew how to ask where the bathroom was and how much something cost in the store and he knew what a _boulangerie_ was, but he needed a translator. The idea that someone might not put his words in precisely the right way bothered him but this was another rich author problem. He’d had translators for Japanese editions of his books, but the majority of his readers were at least mostly fluent in English.

Sitting in the bookstore in Paris with his translator and glorified babysitter named Manon that his publishing house provided, Steve watched the moderator rearrange their cards in their lap. He was welcomed with a round of applause. The panel was supposed to go for about forty-five minutes, and Steve never got used to them, ever. He knew they were somehow both short and excruciatingly long at the same time.

From what Steve could feel when he tried to read the room, there wasn’t as much warmth for him. He considered that maybe he was just projecting, being an annoying American in a European city asking for people to take him seriously, but some of the questions were pointed.

“How much of James Barnes’ life was stolen for the sake of this story?” Manon relayed to him, and Steve felt his eyebrows hike. He heard it in her tone; it wasn’t a joke.

“I, uh,” he muttered. He cleared his throat, looking at the woman who was standing by the microphone, waiting for his answer. “I… wouldn’t say it was stolen. I’ve known James for over twenty years, we grew up together in Brooklyn.”

The woman was saying something in French to Manon and Steve couldn’t make out anything remotely familiar because she was speaking very fast. Manon was nodding, starting to translate.

“What about the characters within the story? How much was fabricated? There are so many people out there who don’t have the opportunity to be published and you managed –”

Manon cleared her throat, shaking her head.

“I won’t tell you the rest of that.”

Steve frowned. “Go ahead.”

He could feel his hackles rise instinctively and he was reminded immediately of something his mom used to say – _Stevie, your Irish is rising_ – when he’d get into arguments. He never walked away from a fight.

Manon nodded, but her expression had changed.

“You have used another person’s story that you knew would cause controversies.”

Steve glanced at the woman at the mic.

“You don’t think I deserve all this.”

She shook her head. She could speak English but she didn’t want to speak it to him. Manon was about to translate but Steve put up his hand.

“You think I used my friend’s fame? I have no talent, and none of this is my story?” he said, waving his hand at the poster behind them that was an enlarged version of the new edition.

The woman nodded and Manon sighed.

-

The summer of 1994 was one of the best summers of Steve’s life, and he felt as though it was endless. Warm days and nights with Bucky and his mom.

Their moms got along immediately, a reflection of Steve and Bucky’s friendship. It was as though they’d known each other way longer. There was an easiness to it all, up until Judith told Sarah that Bucky was asked to leave his school back in May and she was debating whether or not to change schools or make her son stay on probation.

Steve overheard some of this when Sarah was on the phone in the kitchen, cooking their dinner or reading a magazine. She’d sit on that phone for hours calling different people when Steve watched TV or sat in the bath. Whenever he was sick she’d be on the phone when he was trying to sleep, her soft voice like a hum at the edge of his consciousness when he’d drift in and out.

He doesn’t remember his father, not even a fraction. He was sent to the summer camp in ’94 after his teacher gave his mom a flyer. The school was always on edge whenever Sarah Rogers came around. Steve thought maybe the principal was expecting a timid little thing when he first started kindergarten. They got a nasty shock when kids started picking on Steve for his size. Sarah marched into the school when the nurse called her about Steve’s bloody nose, demanding the leadership did something about the bullies.

It never stopped, not when Steve was alone for the first few years of his schooling. He got better at bending the truth, avoiding answering questions when Sarah asked what happened. He had bruises, split lips, and blood on his clothes. He’d mumble about forgetting who’d beat him up just to make her stop asking, and he hated being dishonest.

“Is Stevie’s school any good?” Judith asked when they were spending the Fourth of July weekend with her and Bucky, watching fireworks upstate.

Sarah sipped her can of beer, laughing with a slight bitterness. Judith smirked.

“I’m guessing they ain’t great. But definitely no worse than what else is out there,” Judith said, and Sarah sighed.

“They like to stick their heads in the sand. Also, they don’t pay enough attention to kids… with Steve’s attributes,” Sarah murmured.

Steve felt himself blush, wondering what Bucky thought of him. He knew he was smarter than the other kids in his class. He knew how to read and how to tell the time before he started school, which apparently was a big deal.

“Buncha delinquents in his class, huh?” Judith said, and Sarah nodded. “They don’t like to use the term ‘expel’, but –”

“Ma!” Bucky said sharply, and he threw a few blades of grass behind him.

“What, you’re gonna tell me you slipped when you broke Jimmy DiAngelo’s nose? What about that kid with the afro?”

“ _Derek_ ,” Bucky mumbled, sounding exasperated.

Steve and Bucky made eye contact and Steve felt his face flush.

“You’re lucky we weren’t sued by anyone’s parents,” Judith added. She turned to Sarah. “We got given a number for a therapist –”

“MA!” Bucky yelled, and Steve jumped.

Judith and her son glowered at one another and Sarah reached out to pat Judith’s hand.

“It’s okay. Alright, Bucky? We’ll change the subject.”

“Just because mom’s sad doesn’t everyone else has to be,” Bucky retorted, and Steve’s eyes widened.

He’d never heard another kid chew out his own kin like that before, especially not with company present. Steve never got that mean with his own mom.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you apologize to our guests.”

“We’re outside! We’re all guests outdoors,” he retorted, standing up. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t use that language –”

“Jesus tap-dancin’ Christ!” Bucky yelled, and then he turned his heel and charged off down the hill.

Steve stared after him before glancing at Sarah.

“I’m so sorry,” Judith said, and she looked like she was about to cry. “He’s been like this for months, since his dad –”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sarah murmured.

She rummaged in their picnic basket and got out another beer.

“You need a drink.”

“I shouldn’t,” Judith muttered, and Steve turned his head back to watch Bucky stalking off toward some trees, kicking his feet.

She took the drink anyway, putting it to her lips. Steve felt as if he was intruding so he stood up, glancing at Sarah.

“You got your inhaler?” she asked, and he nodded.

He always had it on him but she always checked.

“If the pollen makes you cough, come straight back,” she said, and he nodded again.

He took his allergy medication every morning with his glass of milk. He hated it, but he remembered that it helped his mother to know he was doing it.

He walked down the hill, seeing Bucky pick up a stick and start smacking it against a tree trunk. He reached him and watched Bucky grunting and hitting the tree.

“Are you okay?”

“Why?” Bucky snapped, and Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“Just wondered if…”

Bucky stared him down and Steve felt smaller than ever.

“Wondered if I could help,” he finished, and Bucky’s chest heaved.

“My ma tell your ma what happened to my dad?” he asked, and Steve shook his head.

All he managed to understand from what he heard when his mom was on the phone was that Judith was struggling in every way – financially, emotionally, physically. It didn’t take a genius to see Bucky had been going through something, too.

“She tells me off for bein’ a little shit,” Bucky muttered.

Steve knew that was a word he wasn’t supposed to say. Bucky said a lot of those types of words.

“She pretends like she doesn’t use curse words.”

Steve nodded, glancing at the stick in Bucky’s hand.

“What happened to your dad?” he asked, and Bucky winced.

“He died.”

“Mine, too,” Steve said. “When I was a baby.”

He fell off a roof. He was twenty-two and it was snowy, and his name was Joseph. Sarah would come out with little titbits about his dad but he knew it was hard for her to talk about him.

“He died in January,” Bucky said. “Got hit by a car. Blood on his brain.”

Steve nodded, though he was a little confused. He wanted to ask what that meant, but Bucky was looking like he was trying not to cry, his hands balled into fists.

“Mom wants a fresh start,” he added. He sniffed. “We can’t afford to move, but I have to change schools before I end up in juvie.”

“What’s juvie?” Steve asked, and Bucky blinked.

“Jail, for kids.”

“They put kids in _jail_?” Steve said, and Bucky nodded.

“Little shits like me, yeah,” he muttered.

-

When Steve walked into school on his first day of the third grade, he hung around one of the drinking fountains, wondering when the taunting was going to start. He hoped he would grow over the summer, but he hadn’t much at all. He knew because of the markings on the wall in the kitchen next to the phone.

He watched other kids arriving, talking in groups. He heard a familiar voice to his right.

“Hey.”

Bucky stood with his backpack on, his hair sticking up. Steve wanted to hug him but he didn’t know if he’d immediately be pushed away because of it. There was also the chance of Bucky ending their friendship because he’d see what a loser Steve was at school.

Bucky was his first ever friend.

“I hate school,” Bucky said, and Steve nodded.

“Me, too.”

Steve could feel other eyes on them, kids watching this new kid talking to him, wondering what the hell was going on. Steve gave a little smile that Bucky returned.

It took until recess for a kid to start shit with Steve. Maybe he’d been answering too many questions, but he knew either way he was going to get punched. The kid’s name was Lucas, and since learning about juvie, Steve wondered how this kid had managed to avoid it so far.

Sarah told Steve over and over that these kids were jealous because he was loved by teachers and a smart little guy. Steve knew it was because he was an easy target, too.

Lucas was standing over him with his little fist raised to deliver another blow when Bucky tackled him to the ground, and the pair of them rolled around while several kids started to yell “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

Two teachers on yard duty came running over, blowing their whistles and attempting to break up Bucky and Lucas. Bucky had to be pulled off of him, looking like he was nowhere near done.

Steve got up from the ground, standing with some difficulty and watching Bucky and Lucas reluctantly apologize to one another. It seemed like the teachers were being lenient since it was Bucky’s first day, but he’d made a distinct impression on the school. From then on, people treated Steve differently. Only every so often bullies would confront him when he was alone, and Steve began to lie to Bucky sometimes, too. He didn’t want Bucky getting expelled for his sake.

One lunchtime in the fall, Steve’s nose was bleeding and Bucky took him under his arm, walking around the playground, asking him who did it.

“I’m okay,” Steve mumbled, wiping his nose with his sleeve as Bucky narrowed his eyes at a group of boys that included Lucas. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Hey!” Bucky yelled across the yard. “Why don’t ya pick on somebody ya own size?”

Steve knew he got that line from _The Lion King_. They saw that one twice together.

Lucas flipped them off and Bucky mirrored him, grabbing Steve’s hand to do the same.

“Fuck that guy,” Bucky muttered.

He pulled Steve into the bathrooms and grabbed a wad of toilet paper to staunch the flow of blood, and Steve leaned against the wall. Every time a kid walked in, Bucky watched them with narrowed eyes like a loyal guard dog and Steve felt better for it.

“Hey, look up,” Bucky said, and Steve obliged. His friend tutted. “Yeah. That’s a shiner. What’re you gonna tell your ma?”

“I dunno,” Steve muttered.

“I heard Lucas’ dad uses a belt on him,” Bucky said, and Steve’s eyes widened.

He never understood parents hurting their kids. Sarah was adamantly against any kind of physical punishment. Steve didn’t like to brag but he knew he was a good kid, so the worst his mom had ever done was tell him he wasn’t allowed to stay up all night reading comics, and she confiscated his flashlight. Even when he swore in front of her once she only laughed out of surprise.

“So he wails on me ‘cause his dad hates him?” Steve muttered.

He didn’t like the idea of feeling sorry for his own bully. Bucky shrugged.

-

Steve can pinpoint the time when things began to change again.

His mom was working with Judith because she was sick of waitressing. She spent hours packing groceries. Steve and Bucky would stay at each other’s places after school, and sometimes for hours they were home alone, doing whatever they wanted.

Somehow that information got out. Steve was used to kids telling him he was poor. Everyone he knew was poor, though, so it was like the pot calling the kettle black. He had a thick skin when it came to his background. His mom and dad got married after they finished high school. His mom was a single parent by the age of twenty and he never felt ashamed of her, because she was so beautiful and loving. There was nothing about Sarah that Steve ever wanted to change.

The kids made fun of the fact that Bucky and him spent all hours together.

“Faggot.”

He was in the sixth grade when bullies said it and Steve didn’t know what it meant. Whatever it was, it was bad and he didn’t want to be described that way.

“Fuckin’ homo.”

Steve felt himself blush with shame and he was shoved into the side of the school building. Bucky would come charging up behind whoever it was and he’d punch their lights out. It meant Judith was brought in, and Bucky would be in trouble.

“Stevie –”

He grabbed Steve and the other boys howled with laughter.

“Fuckin’ faggots,” Steve heard.

Bucky had already dragged Steve away from the wall but he spun around, jutting his chin at the group of boys.

“What’d you call me?” he said, and Lucas smiled crookedly.

There was a deathly silence and Steve felt his rising panic. Bucky would snap because of next to nothing those days.

“Lookin’ after your boyfriend?” Lucas finally said, and Bucky tilted his head.

“How would I have time to do that when I’m always lookin’ after your mom, Lucas?” he replied, and Steve felt the triumph of knowing Bucky could make Lucas that angry so fast.

“Say that again, faggot –”

Bucky was shoved in his chest.

“How would I have time when I’m always lookin’ after your mom?”

Lucas grabbed him by the shirt, pressing their foreheads together and Bucky grinned. He tilted his mouth to brush his lips against Lucas’ nose and he recoiled instantly, eyes ablaze.

Lucas and the others left them there, jeering as they went.

“I’m okay,” Steve said automatically, before Bucky could ask.

Bucky nodded, looking down at his hands.

“Kinda want to follow ‘em,” he muttered.

“Don’t,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded again.

“For you, I won’t,” he said.

Steve looked at the ground. His throat felt tight, his cheeks still warm.

“What does that shit mean?” he muttered, and Bucky frowned.

“You… never heard that shit before?” he asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.

Steve scrubbed his face, feeling self-conscious. Whenever Bucky knew something he didn’t, it was usually something secret or grown-up that Steve wouldn’t dare ask his mom about.

“Men who have sex with other men,” Bucky said, his voice low. “That’s what faggot means.”

Steve nodded.

“Do they think we’re boyfriends?” Steve asked. “Like, for real boyfriends?”

“No,” Bucky said. “Who cares if they did, anyway?”

Steve knew Bucky had a point. It wouldn’t matter what he did or said, Steve was always getting picked on.

Steve shivered, the conversation dropped. What was it about him that had them using that word now when they hadn’t before? What did he do to warrant that?

He learned over time it meant sissy, too. Bucky was only accused of that when he was around Steve. Steve seemed to be the common denominator.

Sissy, faggy, faggot, cocksucker. Steve’s stomach would churn with nerves when he thought of having to go through that every day. He tried walking like Bucky did. He tried to eat more to put on weight, but his metabolism was so high. He prayed out of fear.

_Please God, make me bigger. Please God, I hate school. I try to be good._

-

Middle school started and Steve was the shortest person there by far.

During the welcome assembly and orientation week, Bucky kept him close. Steve was sure the rumors from elementary school had followed him but some of the bullies had moved to other schools. Lucas was gone, but then new guys that were Bucky’s height or taller were suddenly all around, sizing each other up.

Bucky broke the ice by noticing girls before most of the other boys did. He had a knack for talking to everyone he came across, and Steve knew all the girls had crushes on Bucky. Things began to rotate around them. Steve looked at them more.

It was as if the summer had changed his perspective and there were these creatures all around, varying in sizes and shapes that smelt good and looked soft to the touch. Steve didn’t dare act like some of the other boys did. He knew from his mom’s advice that he had to be respectful.

“You have to be very, very gentle,” Sarah said.

She gave him The Talk when he turned twelve back in July. Steve had been mortified, mostly because it sounded all so scary. Hair was meant to grow where? His penis was going to do what?

At least in health class other kids were giggling about it. Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight of the penis diagram their teacher pointed.

“Yes, Bucky?” she asked, when he put up his hand.

“Is that life-sized?”

The class erupted in laughter and the teacher glanced at the ceiling. Steve covered his mouth, staring straight ahead. He never thrived on that kind of attention like Bucky seemed to.

“You will be tested on everything we discuss in class,” the teacher went on, and Bucky began to write something in the corner of his margin.

He moved his binder closer to Steve’s desk beside his, and Steve looked down at the message.

_Erica. Y/N?_

Steve glanced at the girl in front of his desk. She had blonde curly hair, the hint of womanhood beginning to show in her figure. Her hips were wider than the other girls in that particular class, and Steve could make out one of her hot pink bra straps digging into her shoulder.

Steve looked at Bucky, nodding. She was cute. He didn’t really know her, though they’d grown up together. She was writing notes in her own binder like they were meant to be doing, and Bucky leaned back in his chair, watching her.

His eyes glazed over like they tended to do in the presence of girls and Steve smiled to himself, shaking his head. He was sure Bucky would ask him for notes later.

As soon as the bell went, Bucky was up from his chair, following Erica out the door. Steve watched her tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and laugh at something Bucky said. Seconds later, he was standing next to her at the locker, leaning down to whisper something in her hair.

Steve snorted and then felt a hand rest on his shoulder and he glanced up, seeing one of the bigger guys from the last class.

“Faggot.”

He was shoved into a locker and he felt a padlock smack into his back and he winced in pain. He never dared let himself cry anymore, but that fucking hurt.

He didn’t even know the kid who shoved him, but he was gone a second later. Steve looked over at Bucky and saw he was still whispering to Erica, absorbed in the task.

At one point, his fingers pinched the hem of her short skirt and she giggled. Steve rubbed his back and glanced away.

-

Puberty felt delayed, and Steve wondered why he was ever surprised.

He grew a little taller, but not at the rate as the other boys. The girls still towered over him, too, so he wasn’t about to get a girlfriend.

Bucky went through girls like sticks off gum. At the rate he was going, no-one was safe. Steve knew Bucky was confident, but it was more than that. He couldn’t ever keep still around the opposite sex. Steve felt like his arousal lay dormant while the other boys in his class couldn’t stop talking about dirty things.

No big surprise, Bucky got to second base before all the other boys in their grade. Judith was very stern about his appetite for girls, warning him of all sorts of things when Steve was still within earshot.

It wasn’t that Bucky bragged, exactly. Some girls fought over him. Rumors were rampant about him kissing two girls at the same time in the library just after he turned thirteen.

Steve focused on trying to stay out of trouble. If there were witnesses to the bullying he still suffered it made things worse. Sometimes he got short with his mom when she asked about it. Finally, he broke down when she found a bruise on his back that made her suck in a breath.

“Who else coulda done it?” he snapped, and she shrank back, eyes wide.

“Honey, we have to tell –”

“Who? It doesn’t stop!” he yelled. “I’m _fuckin’ tiny_ , okay?”

He felt tears well in his eyes and he wiped them away fiercely, Sarah’s own chin beginning to wobble. He felt his stomach churn and he moved toward her and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wailed, and she clung to him, kissing his head.

The following day he and Bucky were together in the Rogers living room, watching a movie. Steve knew it was rarer to pull Bucky away from the opportunity to hang out with a girl after school. Bucky took one look at him during home room and he invited himself over to watch TV.

Sarah breezed in after work, pausing to see Bucky sitting on the couch beside him.

“Hey, honey. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Bucky glanced at Steve.

“Uh, yeah. Been busy, Mrs. Rogers.”

Steve pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. Bucky looked at the bags Sarah was holding.

“You need some help with those?”

“No, I’m fine,” she called out, turning her heel to move into the kitchen.

Bucky watched her go, eyes dipping to her ass. Steve smacked him on his chest, and Bucky threw him an irritated look.

“What?” he hissed. “I’m not as bad as those other guys.”

Some of Bucky’s friends liked to talk about Steve’s mom like she was one of their classmates, and it made Steve want to hide her away in their apartment.

“Don’t start hitting on my mom, with all that ‘Mrs. Rogers’ junk,” Steve muttered.

Bucky snorted. “I’ve had a crush on her since the day I met her, alright? So you’re a little late, son.”

“Son?” Steve repeated, and Bucky’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah. Since I’ll probably become your stepdaddy.”

They shoved at each other playfully and Bucky laughed. Sarah stuck her head in a few moments later, clicking her fingers.

“Hey, boys. I’ve got a casserole on. I’m gonna take a bath. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

Bucky looked at her bare feet and then back up to her face and Steve smacked him again for good measure.

“Steven Grant, I set a timer, you better get that casserole out when it’s done,” she said, pointing.

She was smiling as she said this. She winked at Bucky before she left.

Bucky let out a low whistle when they heard the bathroom door shut.

“Your mom’s a fox.”

“You’re so disgusting,” Steve said.

It was another forty five minutes until dinner and Steve did as he was told. He dished out the food onto three plates while Bucky set the table. Steve listened out for his mom, still hearing running water.

“Ma, dinner’s ready.”

They sat down, Bucky making a show of crossing himself. They never said Grace around each other, only when either one of their moms was present. They began to eat but Steve didn’t hear his mom.

He finished his dinner, calling out:

“Ma!”

He didn’t think there was anything unusual about her taking her time in there. She loved that tub, spent hours in there sometimes. She’d fill and refill it to keep warm. She’d usually yell something back, something like “hold your horses”, but now there was silence.

Steve got up from his chair and Bucky frowned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Steve walked out of the kitchen to the hall, hearing the water still running.

“Ma?”

Nothing. He heard the scrape of Bucky’s chair being pushed back and he walked out to meet Steve. Steve set off toward the bathroom, and glanced down.

Water, seeping out from under the door.

“Ma?”

He knocked on the door. No answer. Bucky pushed him aside and hit the door with his shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Okay, hold on.”

He moved back, giving himself a running start before he smacked into the door. It opened, and Steve glanced at the tiles and screamed.

“MA!”

Sarah was on the floor, naked and limp. Bucky’s eyes went wide as he grabbed the nearest towels and wrapped them around her, pulling her into his arms with difficulty.

“Stevie, 911. Go.”

Steve raced off toward the kitchen, nearly tripping as he felt sobs coming up. He dialled the number and heard a woman answer on the other end.

“Please, I need an ambulance, my mom collapsed.”

He blurted his address, the operator asking him to repeat it. He sobbed.

“We’re sending someone to you. Do you know what happened?”

“She was in the tub. Or, maybe she fell out or –”

“Can you unlock the door? The paramedics are on the way…”

Steve raced toward the front and unlocked the deadbolt, before running to the bathroom.

Bucky was holding his mom, stroking her face.

“She’s breathing. Mrs. Rogers?” he said. “Sarah? Sarah…”

“Don’t be too rough,” Steve whispered.

Bucky glanced up at Steve who was hovering, sobbing.

“Hey, Stevie. I got her, okay?”

Steve saw that Bucky was shaking with nerves.

“Get her robe or somethin’,” he added, and Steve nodded.

Bucky looked away as he pulled the soaked towels off of her and wrapped her in her terrycloth robe, and then Steve pulled the plug out of the bath, switching off the water.

Bucky was soaked to the bone, shivering as they waited.

“Stevie.”

He looked into those big blue eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Steve forced himself to nod.


	3. Part Three: Gold

_I rock, I roll, I bloom, I glow_

\- "Where This Flower Blooms" by Tyler, the Creator & Frank Ocean

**Part Three: Gold**

Steve got several concerned emails when he left the panel in Paris. His literary agent was checking to see if he was likely to have the same issues in more appearances in Europe.

He knew it was a different demographic to what he was used to, but that one woman’s comment struck a chord, and it didn’t help that the panel was broadcast on Facebook, with people tweeting about it. Steve knew he was going to have questions about his friendship. He was thankful for all that Bucky had ever done for him but he knew people didn’t know the half of it.

Some comments online rubbed him the wrong way, and he felt like he wanted to explain himself, and yet at the same time he didn’t want people knowing his business. He didn’t go by his real name, for one thing. He was Joseph G. Stevens, and Bucky was James Barnes.

“Fridging. Is that like, a sex term?” Sam asked, and Steve let out a half-laugh.

He was on his phone in his hotel room, contemplating avoiding this leg of the tour. He could go back to the States and lay low for a few months. He knew that was next to impossible, and not because he was obligated to do right by his publisher. Darcy and Bucky were the most famous couple in the world right now, and the sales of the new edition were not slowing down.

“It’s somethin’ writers do to motivate a male character. A female character is killed off and it’s a catalyst. I dunno, I just read some muu-muu wearin’ jackass’ subtweet –”

“Get off the Internet, buddy. Nothing ever good came from blogging,” Sam replied, and Steve knew his friend was right.

“They’re wrong, though, for the most part. They’re findin’ a pattern in my writing themes but they think it’s me bein’ sexist.”

“Then clarify next time you have to talk about it,” Sam said.

Steve thought for a few beats, sighing. “Yeah, okay.”

Sam chuckled on his end. “Anyway. You been experiencing any of the sights? You’re otherwise keeping a low profile.”

Steve knew that was Sam’s code for sex. Steve was sure Sam knew his lack of sex life better than he did. Steve had the advantage of being too absorbed in his work while Sam had a new girlfriend he spoke about a lot.

“Yeah, that’s… Not happening,” Steve said.

“Not even that Manon chick?”

“My translator?” Steve said, making a face.

She was professional to the point of having hardly any interpersonal skills. She probably dealt with assholes who never bothered to try and learn new languages. Steve hoped he wasn’t coming across as a nuisance, especially after that panel.

“I don’t think she even notices me,” Steve added. “She’s too busy, anyway.”

He hadn’t had sex in months. He tried to count it up and his head and then he sighed, remembering Sam was still on the other end.

“I’m okay. Busy,” Steve said. “Busy’s good.”

“Eventually you have to take a break and look around,” Sam said.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

-

Bucky and Steve sat in the hospital waiting room in 1999, Bucky’s arm around Steve’s shivering shoulders.

Steve kept watching the staff walking back and forth, looking out for any sign of Bucky’s mom. She was in the room with Sarah while the boys waited outside.

Sarah had a seizure, that’s all they were told. It made Steve think of Bucky’s dad with blood on his brain. Since learning of how Bucky’s dad passed, Steve had done his own research. It was called a cerebral haemorrhage, and it was unclear whether that was caused by the car hitting him or the fall he sustained by the accident. Either way, he died pretty quickly, Bucky and the two paramedics the witnesses. He was declared dead on arrival.

Steve was aware of how hard it was for Bucky to be there. He hated hospitals. Whenever Steve had been in hospital because of his asthma, Bucky would pace back and forth, or if he sat still his knee would jiggle. Steve knew Bucky was staying for his sake.

Steve stood up when Judith came back, but his heart sank at the sight of her face. She took Steve by the hand and Bucky sat up straighter.

“Ma, what’s up?”

“You wait there.”

“Ma –”

Judith cut him off. “ _For goodness’ sake_ , James. For _once_ in your life, would you do as you’re told?”

Bucky snapped his mouth shut, something passing over his face that Steve couldn’t decipher. Judith led him away, down the corridor she emerged from.

“Your mom is very sick.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Steve asked. He felt new tears spring in his eyes. It felt like he could never run out of tears, but he was so tired. It was past midnight, dinner hours and hours ago.

“You’re going to stay with us for a little while,” Judith replied, deflecting his question.

They reached Sarah’s room and Steve could see there was a partition, another patient and their family inside. A big family all turned their heads and then looked back at their relative. Sarah just had Judith and Steve.

“Ma,” he whispered.

She looked pale as a sheet, with dark circles under her eyes. Judith patted Steve’s shoulder and left him with his mom.

She reached one hand out to his and he took it, feeling her hands were cold. They always were. It was a running joke between them. No matter what, Sarah Rogers had cold hands.

“My little guy,” she whispered.

Her voice was cracked and Steve ducked his head, a whimper escaping.

“I said to Judie before – I need my little Stevie… to be brave,” Sarah went on, swallowing thickly. “But I know you’re always brave, without me askin’…”

Steve glanced up, nodding. He sniffed.

“Doctors are tryin’ to figure it out, but it might be in my brain.”

He felt a wave of nausea. Pure, unadulterated fear. Something inside her was making her this sick, this weak. Something that lay dormant, biding its time.

“I was gettin’ headaches. I always get ‘em, you know me, sweetie.”

It was true. Sarah ran herself ragged day in, day out for years. She loved those baths to help relax her, to heal all those aches.

“Tumor,” she said, lifting her spare hand to indicate her head. “In there.”

“Cancer?” Steve said, and she nodded.

“Doctors are tryin’ to figure out if it’s metastasised,” she said. “I mean, spread to other parts of my body.”

Judith took the boys home. That must have happened because Steve woke later on a mattress beside Bucky’s bed in the dark, reading the clock beside Bucky’s bed.

It was 4 AM and he stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blanket in his hands with all his might. He squeezed his eyes shut.

_Please, God. Protect my mom. I promise I’ll never do anything wrong._

He began to sob and he heard Bucky stir.

“Stevie?”

Bucky’s voice was slurred with sleep.

Steve couldn’t hold it back anymore and he felt the dam break, covering his face with his shaking hands and he kept picturing his mom lying there, helpless and cold in that hospital bed. She was all by herself.

He felt Bucky reach out to peel his hand away from his face. He let him, shaking with his sobs as he heard his friend try to calm him down. It wasn’t working. Steve felt like he was sinking into the ground, his chest a vice.

Bucky got onto the floor, pulling him toward him in a hug. Next thing he knew, his light was being flipped on, Judith standing in Bucky’s bedroom doorway, her eyes furrowed with concern.

“James –”

“Go back to bed, Ma,” he replied, and Steve felt fingers pet his hair.

Steve fought with Judith for the first time ever. He couldn’t bear the idea of staying at home, only thinking about his mom. Bucky followed him into school, the pair of them exhausted from such little sleep. Someone shoved Steve and Bucky threw a punch.

Steve was in a trance. Bucky was lucky the guy he punched took it in his stride, mentioning some girl Bucky was rumoured to have felt up a couple weekends ago. In that moment, Bucky looked embarrassed. Steve was sure he had a blank stare on his face, overhearing all this.

He blinked reality back, standing in the boys’ locker room, the other kids around him getting ready for gym. Bucky slammed this locker shut, touching Steve’s shoulder.

A kid opposite them sneered something about them sucking each other’s dicks. Steve would usually go bright red but instead he looked down at his gym bag, wondering why his hands had stopped working.

“Hey, Dalton,” Bucky yelled back, jolting Steve. “You keep talkin’ about me like that and I’ll start to think you’re obsessed with me.”

The kid flipped him off. “Your boyfriend looks like he’s about to cry.”

Steve looked up, and something shifted. He saw the kid as something different to before. He thought of his mom in hospital, the cancer leeching her of the spirit he adored beyond everything else he knew in life.

Bobby Dalton’s eyes widened as Steve moved toward him lightning fast, grabbing his shirt before he had a chance to react. Bucky didn’t try to stop him as he raised his fist, and Dalton flinched.

Steve glared at him and he shrank back, hands up.

“Fucking psycho midget,” he muttered.

Steve and Bucky were left standing there. Bucky’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and Steve grit his teeth.

“You should go home.”

“And do what? Sit around and cry?” Steve threw back.

He pulled off his clothes and put on his shorts and t-shirt, Bucky doing the same.

The tumor in Sarah’s brain had not spread anywhere else. She needed immediate treatment, which required surgery and chemotherapy. Steve and Bucky each had two distinct lives – ones for school and ones for Sarah’s treatment.

Since the incident with Bobby Dalton, Steve was no longer such an easy target. He ignored a lot of the comments about his sexuality and size. He was more or less bulletproof at school, and he started to fight back when he got into tussles. Bucky became the one to pull him off bigger kids.

Judith was the one to hear the most about what Steve was up to. Sarah was somewhat shielded from it because Steve begged for privacy. He didn’t want anything as trivial as him getting into fights at school to trigger any more stress for her. She could no longer work consistently and money was stretched so tight that Steve was glad he wasn’t needing new clothes. He was still the shortest boy in his grade, but he managed to be a little taller than some of the smallest girls.

There came one afternoon when Sarah was sweeping the kitchen, her chin wobbling. Bucky and Steve were doing homework at the table, neither of them really concentrating as Sarah shuffled around. She’d lost a lot of weight. Steve seemed to have more meat on his bones than her. Bucky snapped his book shut.

“Mrs. Rogers…”

“I’m fine, Bucky,” she murmured. Her hand went to touch her hair and more of her blonde locks detached from her scalp.

Bucky’s lips parted and he glanced at Steve.

“I’ll be back in sec,” he said.

Before Steve could reply, he was out the door. Steve tried to get back to his paper but he ended up reading the same sentence three times without the words managing to stick in his head. His eyes darted to his mom, her hands full with strands of her.

“Ma.”

She looked at him like she was waking up again, clearing her throat a couple times. He wasn’t sure what to say to make her feel better.

Bucky came racing back, a little bag in his hands. He stopped in front of Sarah.

“Ma uses this to cut my hair. I’m learnin’ to do it by myself.”

Sarah’s face flushed. “I… I don’t know why, but I thought I could ignore it.”

Steve got up from his chair, his mom glancing at Bucky, then back to her son.

“Okay, let’s do it now.”

She changed into her robe while Steve dragged a chair into the bathroom. Bucky set up the electric shaver, cleaning it with a little brush. Sarah walked in, sitting down in the chair. Steve put a towel on her shoulders that she grabbed in one of her bony hands, licking her lips.

“Ready?”

“Shit,” Sarah whispered. “Okay.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and Bucky turned on the shaver. There were already chunks of her hair missing, so when Bucky carded his fingers through her hair a couple of times he let the pieces fall to the floor. When he began to run the shaver through her hair, Steve took Sarah’s hand in his. He worked in silence, Sarah’s face turning to stone.

When he was done, Bucky took a step back. Sarah rose from the chair, looking at herself in the mirror, rubbing her hands over her head. Steve watched her turn this way and that.

“I look like an alien,” she murmured. She glanced at Steve. “Feel it.”

He rose a hand, gliding his fingers up from her ear to her crown.

“I’ll need to buy some hats or somethin’,” she murmured. “You won’t want to walk around with me in public.”

She swallowed hard. “Oh, God.”

She sounded like she was going to cry. There was the buzz of the razor again and Steve glanced at Bucky, seeing him run the razor over his own head, right down the middle.

Sarah’s eyes bulged and Steve started laughing.

“Bucky! Your ma’ll kill me.”

Bucky began to laugh, shaving more.

“It’s just hair.”

“Oh, my God,” Steve cackled, and Bucky kept going.

He looked at himself in the mirror and tidied up, only stopping when he was as bald as Sarah. Steve gestured to his own head.

“Do me, do me,” he said, and Sarah began to giggle.

When Bucky was done, Steve kept rubbing his head with his hands, surprised to enjoy the feeling of it.

“Now we look like we’re in a cult,” Sarah said breathlessly, clutching her stomach as she laughed.

By the time it was Steve’s thirteenth birthday, Sarah’s doctors began to tease that sacred word – remission. Steve didn’t dare jinx it.

He spent a lot of that summer looking after his mom. Only when Bucky could drag him away was when he’d leave the apartment. Bucky was still hanging out with girls. Some of the guys from their grade were starting to hang around him, too.

Those guys were more or less leeching off of Bucky’s ability to get any girl’s attention. A couple weeks out of the new school year, Bucky pulled Steve away from his mom by promising Judith was seeing her. They walked out the door, Steve’s basketball under his arm.

He glanced up at the apartment window as they walked down the street, and Bucky clapped him on his back.

“She’ll be fine. Ma said she’s been doin’ better.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, she’s – she’s maybe okay, now.”

“That’s great!” Bucky said, and Steve felt himself smile for the first time in a while. “Sarah’s gettin’ better and my buddy’s out on the town.”

“Y’know, sometimes you talk like a guy from the fifties or somethin’,” Steve muttered.

Bucky smiled. “Sometimes you talk like an old maid.”

They reached the basketball courts and several kids Steve recognised yelled out, and Bucky waved. While Bucky began to play, Steve sat on the sidelines, wondering how long he had to stay before he could leave. He wished he’d brought something to draw with.

Bucky took off his shirt at one point, wiping himself with it. Steve heard giggles behind him and turned his head, seeing a couple girls from his home room staring at Bucky.

“Hi, Steve,” one of them said. Her name was Freya.

“Hey, Freya. How’s your summer goin’?”

She smiled, shrugging one shoulder. Her friend bit her lip, still watching Bucky dodge around. Her name was Lucy.

“He’s busy right now?” Freya asked, indicating Bucky.

“Yeah,” he replied. Any second now Bucky would spin around and race back.

Steve knew why they stared. He was a good-looking guy. He always had been. Nowadays he’d begun to fill out a little in his chest, looking more like a young man than a child with each passing month. His chain was in his mouth as he passed the ball to another kid, and he paused mid-step at the sight of the two girls standing near Steve.

He smiled, and Freya giggled. He jogged over, and Steve looked at the ground. He always felt awkward when Bucky laid on the charm.

“Hey,” he breathed, and Steve rolled his eyes. He pictured him smouldering them into early graves. If they swooned too much they were bound to suffer heatstroke.

“You playing?” Freya said.

Her accent was different from Bucky’s or Steve’s. She seemed like one of the girls to pretend she wasn’t from around there, rough around the edges and poor. It made her seem fake.

“Not anymore,” Bucky replied, and he looked at Lucy. “You wanna hang out?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, her smile wide. She blushed.

“Alright,” Bucky said. He looked at Steve. “He’ll come, too.”

“What?” Lucy said, and Freya grabbed her wrist.

“That’s fine,” she blurted.

Great. Steve wasn’t exactly welcome. Bucky smiled at Lucy again and she seemed to melt enough to not complain, and when Bucky grabbed his shirt and Steve’s basketball, they walked off in two pairs.

Bucky put his arm around Freya like it was the most natural thing in the world. Steve didn’t have the nerve nor the height to do the same with Lucy.

All he knew about her was that she was half Mexican and she used to have a Barbie lunchbox back in the fourth grade. Steve remembered that distinctly because he wanted one, too. He liked the colour pink, but he knew it was for girls to have, not boys.

Not unless he had some kind of death wish.

Bucky and Freya whispered together and giggled as they walked through the streets, while Lucy looked left out, frowning with her arms crossed. Steve bounced his ball every so often, and Lucy glanced at him at one point, irritated.

“Where are we goin’?” Steve asked, and she sighed.

“Sorta hoped we’d go to the movies,” Lucy said, her voice loud enough for Bucky and Freya to hear.

Freya turned her head. “Yeah, we’re going. Don’t have to get pissy about it.”

Lucy flushed, humiliated. Steve stared after Freya. Girls could be cruel, especially to each other. Sometimes he was glad he didn’t have a sister.

“I’m… not!” Lucy said, balling her fists.

It was clear they both had a crush on Bucky, and Freya had managed to bulldoze Lucy. Steve made a show of rolling his eyes at Freya’s back, and Lucy glanced at him.

He pretended to gag and he saw Lucy’s mouth quirk in the corner of his eye. Freya and Bucky seemed distracted, but Lucy lowered her voice to speak just the same.

“How’s your mom?” she asked.

“She’s okay,” he replied. It’s usually what he told his teachers or the landlord.

He was sure his mom’s illness was spread around school by the teachers, most likely out of concern. Steve never took a day off, and he never let anyone give him special treatment. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the ground.

“My aunt, she had – uh, _breast cancer_ ,” Lucy said, dropping her voice to a whisper, her face flushing. “She was okay, though. She doesn’t go near microwaves anymore. She read in this magazine –”

“Microwaves don’t cause cancer,” Steve interjected, and he had to look away from her again to stop himself from laughing because Lucy was so earnest. “Their energy is like radio waves but shorter.”

He could have launched into exactly how microwave ovens work but when he looked back at Lucy again, she had a glazed expression on her face, her lips parted.

“You’re so smart,” she said, and Steve feels his stomach flip.

“Oh. Thanks. You, too,” he replied. He’s lying, but Lucy seemed to believe him.

She took his hand in hers and Steve stared down at his fingers thread through hers. Her nail polish was shiny with little gold flecks. She spied Lucy looking over at Bucky and knew exactly why she touched him. She absolutely was not a smart girl, thinking she could make Bucky jealous somehow.

Looking up at the posters when they got to the theater, Steve wished he was the one picking the movie. He’d already seen _Tarzan_ twice, but it was still showing. He loved animated movies. There was no way they could sneak into the South Park movie.

Steve should have known seeing a _Star Wars_ film would not deter Bucky from making out with a girl in the audience. Steve knew he liked the original _Star Wars_ movies more than _Phantom Menace_ , but it was hardly romantic. He kept glancing at Bucky, and so did Lucy.

From what Steve could see in the dark, Lucy was looking at them wistfully. At one point, she touched his hand on the armrest and Steve gulped, wondering what her big plan was. If the goal was to make him nervous, she was succeeding. Even in the cool theater, Steve began sweating bullets. He’d never touched a girl beyond holding hands. Those days, touching a girl happened by accident, skin brushing or bodies bumping awkwardly in hallways.

Steve lost track of how many girls Bucky had kissed. He’d bet anything Bucky had, too.

He glanced at Freya and Bucky, the two of them looking like they were fighting with their mouths. Steve looked back at the screen, his cheeks burning. Lucy’s hand glided up his bare arm and he felt goose bumps break out at her touch.

She tugged him by the shirt and he turned his head just in time for her to catch him by the lips and he froze, his whole body going tense.

His first kiss. It wasn’t how he thought it would be. He thought he’d have hearts in his eyes, the girl swooning as he pulled her into his arms. He pulled back from it the second her tongue slipped between his lips.

“What?” she hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“Nothin’.”

He kissed her back, trying to make sense of it. It felt invasive and not at all pleasant. Why did Bucky like doing this? Steve felt himself start to panic, so he pulled Lucy by the arm, trying to pretend he had the upper hand.

He couldn’t do it.

“Sorry,” he whispered, breaking away. He tried not to pant so loudly as Lucy moved back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Steve kept his eyes glued to the screen, seeing Obi Wan up there. Lucy’s hand still stayed in his, and he could hear Bucky and Freya kissing close by.

Obi-Wan looked so strong up there, his brow furrowed in concentration. His grip on Lucy changed, turning her wrist over, pulling her –

He kissed her that time, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Her eyes were brown but he pictured them as blue. He touched her back, wishing it was broader.

Oh, God.

“No,” he said, and he pulled back.

Lucy frowned.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing. It’s – it’s nothing,” Steve panted. He felt funny, all nauseous and scared, but excited.

Lucy moved back to sit in her chair, looking confused. She looked over at Bucky and Freya, crossing her arms.

Steve felt like he should say something, but nothing was coming out. He felt like such an idiot, wondering what he was supposed to do to make it right. It wasn’t her fault that he didn’t like it, surely?

He looked at the screen and felt sick again, watching Obi Wan. He knew he was the one he imagined kissing, not a girl.

After the movie, they walked the girls back to the basketball courts. Lucy walked ahead that time, her arm through Freya’s. Bucky glanced over at Steve every so often to check on him, and Steve felt like a baby.

When they were finally alone, the girls walking off to the subway station down the street, Bucky nudged Steve with his elbow.

“So, how’d it go?”

“I’m not doin’ that again with you,” Steve muttered, his face going hot.

“She that bad?” Bucky asked. “Sorry, man.”

“She only kissed me because she wishes she was your girlfriend, not Freya,” Steve muttered, kicking his shoe on the ground.

Bucky chuckled.

“Freya’s not my girl, Stevie. I don’t have girlfriends.”

“Figures,” Steve muttered.

He didn’t dare mention Obi Wan. Something inside made Steve afraid to be honest. He hated lying to Bucky but he couldn’t come out and say that he wanted to kiss a boy.

“You okay?” Bucky said after a beat. Steve’s misery must have shown on his face.

“Yeah, I just wanna go home.”

-

Zero greeted Steve the same way he always did, by jumping up into Steve’s arms the second he opened his apartment door.

Next came a cheer and Steve jolted, his apartment flooding with light.

“SURPRISE!”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve cried, as several dozen people erupted in cheers and applause.

Zero clambered to rest on his shoulder as the room began to sing Happy Birthday, Steve’s face turning pink.

Bucky came over, his arms wide to hug him and Steve chuckled.

“You asshole,” he whispered, and Bucky flashed a shit-eating grin. “You know hate that shit.”

“Not every day a man turns thirty-four,” Sam said, coming up beside Bucky and clapping Steve on his shoulder.

Steve was thankful Wanda wasn’t there. Not because he didn’t like her company, but he was certain Darcy was trying to set him up with her still.

Natalie was in her arms as she introduced him to a woman named Amber, a graphic designer from Singapore that Darcy met on some photo shoot recently. She was cute, wearing a tight red dress that hugged every curve. Steve talked to her a lot, but he knew he’d rather be with his goddaughter. It was her first birthday in a few days.

He kept looking over at the baby, Bucky’s arm around Darcy’s as they talked together. They always looked so in love. Steve glanced away, back at Amber.

“She’s cute,” she said, and Steve nodded. “But she’s married.”

“No, that’s not –” Steve put up his hand. “I’m Nats’ godfather.”

“OH!” Amber said, covering her mouth for a second, looking horrified. “I’m so sorry. You went all doe-eyed and I thought you had a crush. Most people have a crush on Darcy.”

She didn’t sound bitter. Steve nodded, and then something passed over Amber’s face and he knew then that Amber wasn’t who Darcy thought she was.

She was hiding in plain sight.

“Right,” he said, and Amber nodded.

“Don’t… tell her. It’s so dumb, falling for a straight girl. I thought maybe her marriage was kind of – oh, God, open? I guess?”

Amber bit her lip, rolling her eyes.

“It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Just – pretend to give me your number or somethin’, and then Darce will leave us alone,” Steve said.

Amber shook her head. “I should go. Happy Birthday.”

Before he could say anything else, she took off. Steve saw Bucky watching him and he felt his face flush. He only had to wait a minute before Bucky came over.

He handed him Natalie, and Steve took her, pressing his lips to her head. The scent of her soft baby skin was a comfort, and Bucky squeezed his shoulder.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

“Can’t believe she’s nearly one,” Steve said, Natalie looking up at him. “Time fuckin’ flies.”

“Yeah. Sorry about – whatever that was,” Bucky muttered. “Darce says she worries about you.”

“I wish she wouldn’t,” Steve replied, trying his best to not sound irritated. “I don’t have to find someone to be happy. I like working, I like not having to…”

He trailed off and Bucky smirked.

“You like not bein’ tied down,” he muttered. “Right.”

“I know how that sounds,” Steve replied. He was literally holding his best friend’s daughter, a sign of commitment between two people, a little life to nurture.

The last serious relationship he had was with Beth. She wanted to get married, and he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t love her. He adored her. Last he heard, she married a year ago and had a kid with an old boyfriend from high school.

“I know,” Bucky said. “I never thought – well. Y’know.”

Steve smiled. “And then you met Darcy.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

Steve knew he didn’t know how else to explain it. He nodded, brushing his nose on Natalie’s head again.

He and Bucky shared another look.

“It’ll be twenty years in a few months,” Steve whispered, and Bucky’s jaw ticked.

Bucky’s voice was a low rumble.

“I know.”

He had grown, and yet it felt like wounds were still fresh if Steve looked too closely at himself.

It was over twenty years since his mom had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	4. Part Four: Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning for references to self-harm, sexual abuse & homophobia**. Heavy angst.

_Hey, you wanna hear a good joke?_  
_Nobody speak, nobody get choked_

\- "Nobody Speak" by DJ Shadow & Run The Jewels

**Part Four: Black**

“I don’t want to be analysed through my work.”

“How can you not be, when it mirrors your own life?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, glancing up at the ceiling. The audience erupted in laughter and he made a show of sighing.

“What do you want to know?”

The moderator smiled back at him, pleased that he was cooperating.

He was back in Europe, Versailles to be exact. He only got off the plane two hours ago. He was jetlagged, missing New York more than ever. He’d left Zero with Bucky. Suddenly he was feeling as though the cat was his own, forgetting the time before when he didn’t have a pet. There was still no correspondence with Strange. Nobody had heard from him in days. There was some rumor that he somehow managed to get into the Middle East, most likely assuming another identity.

“What do we do, if he never turns up again?” Darcy asked, and Bucky’s eyebrows lifted.

“He’ll come back.”

“Why does he do this? Why can’t he just switch off, and be around other people, not just to work?” she went on.

She said all this as Zero lay on the floor, Natalie’s highchair next to him. Natalie was looking down at the feline, mumbling some nonsense and pointing as Zero’s tail flicked up and down.

“What’s the last thing you heard from him?” Steve asked.

Darcy’s eyes focused elsewhere, as if trying to remember something.

“His assistant asked me what I thought about dyeing my hair, because of some character Stephen was thinking of. Except she only knew all that because he sent a postcard from some place in Mexico, with no other explanation.”

Steve wondered whether Strange even wanted to be found. Sometimes he thought about doing the same – disappearing for a while to catch his breath. He knew Bucky and his girls were kept him returning every time. Sam, too.

Sitting at this panel, he knew Strange thrived on this type of attention, but the Brit would detest this line of questioning. He was always asked about which marriage each of his films were about. Often enough, he’d reply with something cryptic which neither answered nor deflected the question.

What would Steve do, if he could escape? Would he settle?

The moderator looked down at her notes, before glancing up again.

“Who is Cassandra? Was she real?”

-

Her name was Megan. The majority of Cassandra’s character was based on encounters Steve personally had as a teenager. The other facets, the ones he knew were anecdotes of Bucky’s time in middle school and beyond, Steve only skimmed over.

The best parts of Cassandra were real, and that’s why they were her best.

Someone asked Steve once if naming her Cassandra had anything to do with the Greek myth of a woman cursed with prophecies no-one else believed in, and Steve answered honestly – no. He didn’t think that far into it, he just liked the name.

She was wise for someone so young, and so maybe the myth fit her.

Eighth grade began with Sarah making Steve breakfast for the first time in weeks. She had the strength to stay upright for longer. Her hair was the same length and colour as Steve’s, except his was choosing to stick up at the back. She scrubbed her hands through it when he got up to leave.

“Please stay out of the sun,” she said, and he nodded. She grabbed his chin. “Okay?”

“Yes, Ma,” he replied. He smiled, seeing the pink in her cheeks. She was happy, so he was happy.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.

“Love you!” she called, and he yelled it back as he jogged off.

The welcome assembly was different because Steve and his group of friends were no longer the babies of the school. They sat at the back, Steve’s chin in on hand as they guys snickered about something idiotic that he chose to tune out. The principal was saying something about a mural they were painting this semester and Steve sat up straighter.

“Steve’s got a hard-on,” Bobby Dalton said, and the others began to laugh.

Steve felt his ears grow hot, refusing to turn around. Dalton was always on his case about something.

“Shut up,” Bucky said, sounding bored.

Bobby fell silent, his smile vanishing. Steve kept his stare straight ahead. He did not want to go home that afternoon with fresh bruises. His mom didn’t need him getting in a fight on his first day back.

A girl sitting to the left of them turned her head for a second, distracting Steve. Their eyes met, and he knew she was new to their school. He would have noticed her before then if she wasn’t.

She wore a dark denim jacket, the rest of her clothes black and worn. Her sneakers were scuffed and drawn all over with marker. Her hair was a shiny, black bob and her eyes were lined with smudgy kohl, her stare mildly interested, before her gaze swung back to the principal.

Steve stared at the back of her head, feeling his cheeks flush. In a way, he was relieved. Since kissing Lucy, he was afraid he didn’t like girls enough.

It took only a few days for the new girl to be mentioned. She walked past them in the hallway to get to her locker, her backpack hanging off one shoulder. She had the same makeup every time Steve saw her. She was the type of girl Judith Barnes would call a raccoon.

“I heard she’s a dyke,” Bobby said to Bucky.

Bucky was leaning against his own locker, watching the new girl shove books away and pull out her gym clothes. That meant she was in the same class as Steve, if she was about to go to gym.

“What makes you think that?” Bucky replied, not turning his head to speak.

He had the same expression on his face whenever he looked at girls, his eyes went darker. Bobby hit Bucky’s shoulder.

“What do you think? Ask her out and see what happens.”

Steve felt a smirk spread across his face, knowing Bobby had no luck with her. He would have puffed up his chest to do it, probably went bright red when she turned him down.

Bucky didn’t like an audience, so he shot Bobby an irritated look, before turning to open his locker. Steve did the same, but Bobby decided to take it out on Steve, reaching into his locker for his gym clothes before Steve could stop him.

He held Steve’s shorts aloft.

“Come on, Steve – unless you’re gonna have an asthma attack…”

He ran down the hall and Steve glanced at Bucky.

“That fuckin’ chode,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Just skip it.”

Steve made a face. They’d definitely call Sarah if Steve was skipping classes. He never had, and he wasn’t going to start it just because his best friend told him to. He slammed his locker shut and took off down the hall, seeing Bobby in the distance still holding his shorts.

“Give ‘em back, Bobby,” Steve said when he reached them.

“Nah, I think I’ll throw ‘em,” he retorted, grinning.

Steve hated this crap. All he wanted to do was keep his head down and get through school. He hadn’t provoked him. He sighed, watching Bobby dangle his shorts back and forth, before turning to push open a door and throw them inside.

It was the girls’ locker room. Steve wasn’t going to get those back.

Bobby laughed, clapping Steve on the shoulder way too hard, making Steve stumble. He leaned close to his ear and whispered:

“Everyone knows you’re a faggot, Steve.”

He tried his best not to react but Bobby looked smug, patting his shoulder again.

“Lucy told everyone in French yesterday how you couldn’t make out with her.”

Steve felt his face flush. He thought Lucy would keep that whole thing to herself, since it was embarrassing for both of them. Steve wasn’t exactly a stud, and she’d be admitting to kissing him. She must have spread the news to make herself feel better about Bucky not choosing her.

“I’m not,” Steve said, but he knew it was too late.

Bobby only laughed. He had a skip in his step as he moved away, going back down the corridor. Steve stared at the floor, feeling sick.

For a humiliating moment, he thought he might cry, so he kept his eyes on the floor even after the bell went for his next class. Kids shoved past him as he stayed still. He thought about finding Bucky and skipping gym, but then he’d feel so guilty. He hated that he was such a wimp.

He turned to leave when he spotted the new girl coming his way, her gym bag in one hand. Her eyes met his and Steve swallowed.

“Hey,” he said, and she stopped.

“Hey,” she replied.

“Can you do me a favour?” he asked, and she blinked a couple times.

“Uh, sure. What?”

Steve was surprised this was going so well, considering he was shy around all girls his age. He never understood how Bucky managed it. Maybe because Steve had no chance in hell of ever getting a girl to go on a date with him, he was given a kind of power in his awkwardness, because he didn’t seem like a threat.

“My shorts – got thrown in there,” he said, pointing to the door with the female figure on it. “And I can’t go in there.”

“Okay,” she said, and she departed, pushing through the door.

Steve waited less than a minute before the shorts were flung at him, hitting his chest. He caught them, glancing at the girl. She was taller than him, about Bucky’s height.

“Thank you,” he said, and she shrug.

“No problem.”

“I’m Steve,” he said. He gave a little wave, which he knew would only emphasize what a dweeb he was.

“Megan,” she replied. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

“Right,” he said. “See you out there, I guess.”

Steve changed into his gym clothes and dashed outside, his inhaler stuffed into his pocket. His teacher rose an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Maybe it helped that Steve was such a good student. Coach Anderson blew his whistle for everyone to gather around. They were going to do a fitness test and compare the result to last year’s score. The last time Steve did the test, his lungs felt like they were on fire and he saw spots.

Coach shot him a look but Steve didn’t say anything to excuse himself. He didn’t need another excuse to be picked on. He was sure the boys would start asking him if he was on his period if he ever sat on the bench during class.

He spotted Megan standing on the edge of the group of girls. There was murmuring among them and Megan looked upset, her arms crossed. Steve noticed she wore long sleeves under her t-shirt and tights under her own shorts. Coach beckoned her over.

“Miss Stanton, I know you’re new to our school but here we all dress the same for gym class.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I’d like to – to keep them on, please.”

The other girls whispered but Steve couldn’t make out the words, Coach shushing them. Everyone was staring at Megan, now.

“It’s August. You’ll get heatstroke,” Coach said, and Megan’s eyes widened.

“Then I’ll sit out.”

“Do you have a note?”

She looked at the floor.

“No.”

“Then go,” he said, and she glared at him. “Now! GO.”

Several of the girls giggled as she stalked off. Coach blew the whistle again as Megan disappeared. They were ordered to line up on the edge of the basketball court while Coach set up the CD player. Steve took a pre-emptive puff of his Ventolin, his heart beginning to race. Maybe he’d do well on this for once, since wasn’t having as many attacks.

The door to the gym opened and Megan slipped inside, her arms crossed as she walked over. People began to whisper the closer she got. Steve looked over.

Her arms and legs were covered in scars, some of them long and white, others short and dark. Megan was staring straight ahead as she took her place at the end of the line.

“She’s a cutter.”

Steve glanced at the girl who said it, and he wanted to yell something – but he wasn’t sure what. Megan didn’t deserve people staring at her. Several girls mimed the action on their own arms and Steve grit his teeth. Some of the boys began to laugh.

Coach Anderson looked like he’d swallowed his tongue, walking over to Lucy with his whistle hitting against his broad chest.

“Megan, I’m so sorry –”

Whatever she said, Steve couldn’t hear from his place in the line.

“Jesus, what a freak,” he heard someone say, and he turned his head, seeing Lucy with wide eyes, barely supressing her giggle.

Why did his first kiss have to be with someone like her? Steve balled his hands into fists.

“I’m _staying_!” Megan yelled, and Steve glanced at her.

Coach was still looking at her but he nodded, stepping back. He must have tried to make her leave when Steve was distracted.

Megan looked older then, glaring up at Coach as he retreated to the CD player. The exercise began.

Steve lasted longer than a few kids but he felt a little sick. He didn’t need to prove some point, everyone was distracted by Megan. She jogged along with the others.

She lasted longer than all the other girls. It got down to three kids and she stopped, bending at the waist and huffing. She stumbled over to the side and lay down, staring at the ceiling.

They all left the gym tired and sweaty. Steve went to his locker, seeing Bucky there waiting for him.

“I told you to skip,” he said, and Steve looked down to see his knuckles were split.

“Bucky…”

“He had it comin’,” he cut in, and Steve sighed. He looked at his shorts. “How’d you get those back?”

“Bobby threw them in the girls’ locker room,” Steve said. He didn’t dare mention the things Bobby said to him. “The new girl got them back for me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows hiked, and he looked briefly stunned.

“Whoa, wait – what?”

He grinned, clapping Steve on his sweaty shoulder.

“That’s great!”

“I wouldn’t read too much into it,” Steve said, ducking his head. He did like her helping him, though.

He saw her coming over to her locker across the hall, wearing her clothes from before. She looked pissed off, a pair of headphones on.

“Her name’s Megan,” Steve said before Bucky could ask.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky said.

Steve snorted. “You think every girl is pretty.”

It took until the next day for everyone to know about Megan’s scars. Steve pretended to not hear when the guys huddled around during recess, gossiping. For a gender that thought that girls spoke too much, boys were equally bad at minding their own business.

“You’re in her gym class, right, Steve?” one of the guys said, and Steve looked up from his sketch pad, shrugging.

“Yeah. So?”

“So what does it look like?”

Steve made a face. “Why do you care?”

His comment went unnoticed, Bobby changing tack.

“I heard she’s lesbian because her dad turned her gay.”

Bucky began to laugh, but not because Bobby was being particularly funny.

“You can’t turn someone gay, Dalton,” he said, sounding exasperated. “You’re born that way. Like how you’re a chode. You were born a chode.”

Steve snorted, covering it with a cough. Bobby’s face flushed.

“You were born a chode, you’ll die a chode,” Bucky went on. “And maybe you’ll have a couple chode kids, too.”

“Fuck you, Bucky,” he retorted.

“No, thanks, I’m not into chodes,” Bucky fired back.

Bobby lunged for him but Bucky moved back in time, Steve’s pencil nudging his paper by accident.

“Sorry, buddy,” Bucky said, right after he shoved Bobby away from him.

“Why are you here, fag?” Bobby said to Steve. “Gonna start sketching all the dicks you wanna suck?”

Bucky laughed at Bobby, but not at Steve’s expense.

“Jesus, the places where your mind goes, Dalton.”

The other guys pulled Bobby away and Bucky put an arm around Steve, glancing at what he was actually drawing, which was another depiction of Coach Anderson with steam coming out his ears.

Bucky smirked. “You’re really good at that. You gonna help out with the mural?”

“I dunno,” Steve murmured. “They might think my ideas are dumb.”

“Don’t –” Bucky tapped his cheek with a finger. “—be a punk. You’re good and you gotta start thinkin’ that. You should sign up for that.”

The truth was, Steve’s art teacher Ms. Atwood had already asked him to pledge his services to the new mural. He knew if he mentioned it to his mom, she’d never stop asking him to do it.

“You’ll be the only guy,” Bucky added, winking.

“That’s not… gonna help me,” Steve muttered, feeling his cheeks blush.

Steve hung around after school, fiddling with his bag strap. All he had to do was show up in the art room. He could check it out, and then leave. No one could make him stay if he didn’t like it. It was volunteering. He swallowed, shutting his locker and seeing Bucky with Freya again, his arm around her waist.

“Hey, Buck!” he yelled, and Bucky turned his head, smiling.

“You goin’?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Bucky called. “I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

His friend went back to talking to Freya, never missing a beat. She was looking up at him like she was bewitched.

Steve took the stairs down to the art room, listening out for any voices as he made his way to the door that stood ajar. Only soft murmurs.

Ms. Atwood beamed at him, and Steve couldn’t help smiling back.

“Steve! I was hoping you’d come down here.”

“Yeah, I – I wanted to,” he murmured, rubbing his neck.

He glanced over at the tables that were pushed together, seeing a few kids from the other grade, who hardly noticed him. His eyes landed on Megan, who sat hunched over her section of the table, already doodling on a piece of parchment paper.

Steve felt his stomach twist but he kept moving, grabbing the stool beside Megan, the legs of it scraping against the floor. She glanced up, her pencil paused.

“Hey,” he said, and she frowned.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mural. What about you?”

“Mural.”

Yikes, was she usually like this? Steve didn’t think he was being that annoying. He thought about moving, but doing so would only draw attention to how awkward he felt.

Ms. Atwood clapped her hands together and they looked toward her.

“Since this is our first meeting, I wanna say welcome, especially on such a warm, sunny day outside. You all decided to come here instead. Thank you.”

Steve felt a little better. He liked most of his teachers. Sarah wanted to be one before she had him, and she kept putting it off but eventually she wanted to go to night school and get a diploma or something. Steve wouldn’t mind being an art teacher.

“Today we’ll talk about ideas, maybe make some sketches. It’s all very relaxed. I’ll be walking around, or sitting at my desk up front.”

Steve nodded, keen to get his pencil case out and start. Ms. Atwood smiled again before turning back and walking to her desk by the window. She took out a folder and began writing something down.

The seventh graders started talking again and Steve got out his notebook and a pen, writing down the date and the heading _Mural Ideas._

Megan went back to doodling, only looking up when Steve began to sketch one of the trees that could be seen through the window.

“You’re really good,” she said, and Steve looked at her own paper.

“Thanks,” he said. “Is that a crow?”

She gave a smile, and her whole face changed. “Yeah. I’ve been working on his eyes for ages.”

“It’s really good,” Steve said.

It looked like something out of a science text book, it was that realistic. Her shading was exquisite. It could fly right off the page.

Steve came back every afternoon for the next two weeks of school, and Megan was always there. He sat beside her and drew ideas. Ms. Atwood was helping them piece together each idea, but ultimately the mock-up was going to be approved by the principal and the PTA. Steve heard Megan muttering something about censorship which made his lips quirk into a secret smile.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Even though it was September, the days were still hot as summer. He saw Megan was similarly affected, swiping her upper lip a couple times.

“I wish they had A.C.,” Steve said. “They have it upstairs, but not here.”

Megan looked at him, nodding. “I don’t have A.C. at my apartment.”

“Yeah, me, neither,” Steve said. He knew his mom would never be able to afford it. They had to settle for the standing fans, and it was harder to sleep with one going all through the night.

Steve pushed up his t-shirt sleeves, revealing more of his pale, skinny arms.

Megan swallowed a couple times. She was hesitating. She took a deep breath and pulled off her jacket. She looked at Steve but he was staring at his paper instead.

He didn’t want her to feel judged.

“You can look, you know,” she said.

“I don’t… want to,” he replied. His eyes widened, and he glanced at her face. “Not that it grosses me out. I just don’t – I don’t want to seem like I’m starin’.”

“I have to act like I’m deaf all the time,” she muttered. “Everyone’s such an asshole about it.”

Steve knew what she meant. Everyone always whispered about him, except Bucky, all through his mom’s cancer treatment over the last year. He didn’t want to snap at everyone all the time, so he had to pretend he didn’t know what was happening right in front of him.

He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Megan, though. He hadn’t ever hurt himself deliberately before. At least, he didn’t think he did.

“I’m sorry,” Steve muttered.

“Don’t be. You’re the only nice one,” she said. “Well, you and… Bucky. Whatever his name is.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. His friend had neglected to mention meeting her.

“That bitch Freya pointed at me today and he told her to stop,” she went on.

That sounded like something Freya would do. Steve hoped Bucky had gone off her because of that.

Instead of parting ways when Ms. Atwood told them to go, Megan followed him out the door, leaning against the locker next to his as he got the rest of his books. They chatted about the mural. Hopefully they’d be starting the draft on the blank wall tomorrow.

It was going to be a painting of the downtown Brooklyn skyline. The idea was that the background was psychedelic, a swirl of pinks and oranges for a sunset.

They walked together through the empty corridor to the front of the school, stepping out into the afternoon air. The humidity felt like something Steve could grasp in his hands. Megan said something about her bike earlier and Steve walked with her down to the shed where the kids kept them during the day.

She unlocked its chain and moved it out, throwing her leg over to straddle the seat.

“Hop on,” she said.

“What?” Steve said, and she laughed.

“Hop on, come on,” she said. “I don’t usually offer people a lift. It’s a big deal.”

Steve felt his cheeks flush and he moved closer to her, climbing onto the metal part on the wheel that jutted out.

“Hands on my shoulders.”

“Okay,” he said, and he held on for dear life as they took off down the street.

He hadn’t touched her before. He could feel the heat of her body under his hands, his heart racing. They weaved through pedestrians, the air whipping in their faces.

“Which way is your place?”

“Go left here – _Christ!”_

They nearly collided with a woman walking her Labrador.

“Sorry!” Steve yelled, and Megan began to giggle.

They made it to Steve’s block and he hoped off, walking alongside her as he pointed out different places in his neighborhood. Megan didn’t seem bored. She seemed almost at ease, watching his finger point at the different stores.

“Best grilled cheese,” he said, and she nodded. “The best grilled cheese in the state, I bet.”

“Wow. It doesn’t say that on the window,” she replied. “Thanks for the tip.”

They stopped walking and Steve felt his stomach flip. If he were Bucky, he’d say something now to make her feel like kissing him. Bucky would have her wrapped around his finger, hanging on his every word.

“I should head up. My ma will be callin’ 911, askin’ for me.”

Megan smirked. “Yeah, my mom –”

Something passed over her face and she ducked her head, her hand fiddling with her bicycle bell. She drummed her fingers.

“Anyway. See you tomorrow.”

She turned to leave but Steve blurted:

“You could come up. Have dinner.”

He’d never, ever asked a girl to come meet his mom. He knew it was probably a stupid idea, but Megan didn’t seem to be the type of person to make fun of him. She glanced behind him at the apartment block, unsure.

“We’re probably havin’ pizza.”

She blinked. “Um, okay.”

She looked shy, younger. She followed him, and he helped her pull her bike up the steps to the apartment before he unlocked the door.

He could hear Sarah playing her Ray Charles record and the air smelt of chemicals.

“I was doin’ some cleanin’, honey. How was school -?”

Sarah walked into the living room in her coveralls, and she stopped in her tracks, staring at Megan.

Her arms. Steve tried to gauge his mom’s reaction.

She burst into a smile.

“Oh! Hi, I’m Sarah. Are you in Steve’s class?”

“Ma, this is Megan. She’s new. We’re doin’ the mural together.”

Sarah somehow managed to smile wider than ever.

“Oh, wow! That’s great. I was gonna order pizza.”

“I didn’t want to intrude,” Megan replied, her voice smaller.

Steve watched them both go back and forth, and he was reminded of the time Bucky first met his mom. Megan seemed almost… _flustered._

“I’ll call your mom and tell her you’re here,” Sarah said. “Okay? I’m sure she’ll be happy to know you’re at a friend’s place.”

Megan nodded. Steve was her _friend._ That made him feel really, really good.

Sarah took Megan into the kitchen, taking the phone off the hook to dial the number. She chatted with Megan’s mom for a little while as Steve and Megan hung around.

When Sarah hung up, she smiled again.

“She says no problem. She’ll come by after to pick you up.”

“Thank you.”

Steve took Megan by the elbow, steering her into the living room as Sarah watched them go, winking at Steve.

The next day at school, the guys were all over Steve asking questions. Apparently another kid had seen them riding her bike from school yesterday. Bucky looked impressed, the other boys asking gross questions as he stayed silent.

“Does she have scars on her tits?”

Steve made a face. “It was dinner, asshole. And I don’t know.”

“He never took her home,” Bobby sneered, shaking his head. “Some kid must’ve seen another little fag on her bike. She’s a beard.”

“A what?” Bucky said, and he shoved Bobby in the chest. “Elaborate, chode.”

“A beard,” Bobby went on, looking triumphant at Steve’s frozen expression. “She hangs out with fags. Usually so they don’t look like fags.”

“Well, you’d know a lot about that,” Steve retorted.

Bobby gaped at him. “You fucking faggot –”

Steve lunged to meet Bobby, fists flying. He’d had enough. He tried keeping a low profile, he’d tried not reacting. He was talking about his friend like she wasn’t even a human being. He was tired of being a punching bag.

He was only ripped away from Bobby by Bucky, panting as he glared daggers after Bobby when he shoved himself out of the crowd that formed.

Steve wiped his nose, blood smearing on his face. He was so angry he felt like he could spit venom, but Bucky pulled him back with his voice.

“Let it go, let it go.”

Easier said than done. Steve was poised for another fight for the rest of the day, and when he went to the art room after school, Megan’s eyes widened at the sight of him.

“What the fuck happened?” she whispered.

Steve frowned. “I dunno. Bobby. It doesn’t matter.”

She looked down at her paper. She seemed to curl into herself and Steve felt bad.

They remained silent all afternoon, until Ms. Atwood dismissed them and Steve went to his locker, slamming it shut with more force than necessary.

“I don’t like you like this,” Megan said.

He glanced at her. “What, me having a spine?”

“Is that what you think this is about?” she said.

He didn’t know what to say. She was looking at him differently, her eyebrows furrowed.

“They were assholes about you, the guys at recess. I was sick of it.”

Saying it out loud made it sound ten times dumber. He sounded like one of the boys, and he knew then that he didn’t like that.

“What were they saying?”

“Nothin’. Stupid guy shit.”

“I can handle stupid guys, Steve,” she snapped.

He bristled. He’d taken it too far. He needed to run away, forget this was happening. She followed him, catching up to him on her bike easily as he marched down the street.

“Talk to me,” she called after him.

His chest felt tight. They stopped at the traffic lights but he didn’t walk when the signal changed, he just stared at the people walking by, weaving around them.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said, and he looked up at her. “If you tell me what’s going on.”

He swallowed. “It’s dumb.”

“Try me.”

“They called you a beard,” he said, and she frowned. “They asked about your scars, if you’ve… got them in other places.”

“What did you say?” Megan asked, not missing a beat. Her voice was like ice.

“I told them I didn’t know. I punched Bobby a few times. He made my nose bleed.”

They started walking together again, but they found a bench and sat down. She looked like she wanted to cry.

“You’re not –”

“I don’t know,” Steve interjected. He couldn’t bear to hear the word – _gay_. And in all honesty, he didn’t know.

He knew he had a crush on her. He’d known it for days but he didn’t know if he’d ever have a chance to act on it.

“I do have other scars,” Megan murmured.

Steve nodded. “You don’t have to tell me a secret.”

“I’ve heard the things people whisper,” she went on, ignoring him. “And they’re sort of right. Sort of wrong, too. I had to change schools. It was a whole… thing.”

Steve moved his hand closer to hers, hovering.

“Megan…”

“My sent my stepfather to jail,” she said, and Steve met her gaze, seeing the pink blotches on her cheeks, the tears stuck in her eyes. “Bobby tried to get my number…”

“He’s an asshole.”

“He got angry. Said I was a dyke,” she mumbled. “He’s probably not wrong.”

Steve pressed his lips together, nodding. Megan grabbed his hand before he could pull it away.

They watched the people walking by, their hands still joined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com)


	5. Part Five: Hazel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Heavy angst and references to sexual abuse ahead.**

_One I wished, I never played_  
_Oh, what a mess we made_  
_And now the final frame_  
_Love is a losing game_

\- "Love Is A Losing Game" by Amy Winehouse

**Part Five: Hazel**

There are moments during eighth grade that Steve can’t remember. Memories melted together, and maybe it’s better that way. It was painful to say the least.

He and Megan were closer after that moment together on the bench. Though she mostly preferred to be alone during the school days, the afternoons painting the mural were always spent with Steve. At least once a week for two months she came over for dinner. It usually went the same way every time – Steve would coax her up to his apartment, Sarah would call her mom, and then Megan would stay for dinner and watch TV.

Steve never felt the need to explain himself or his mom. He knew he was a dork, and so was his mom – he was raised that way.

They waved at each other at school but Steve knew they were just friends. He wasn’t oblivious to some burgeoning desire Megan had for him. She never spoke about boys in a way that indicated interest in them. She probably had a crush on Sarah, which was not news to Steve. Most people had a crush on Sarah.

A couple months into the mural project, when the leaves had turned and the cold air made Steve wake up coughing almost every morning, there was a tentative happiness forming in Steve’s heart. Despite the bullies, and despite his fears of his own feelings he kept hidden inside, Steve was settling into this way of life.

And then came the lump. Just a lump on Sarah’s wrist he noticed one morning. She said it was a bruise. He knew what bruises looked like, and this was a lump, something beneath her skin that should not be there. He remembered the possibility of metastasis but the doctors said she was fine.

He pushed everything aside when she told him it was a bruise. She was trying to spare him the pain of knowing she was dying. He walked to school in a daze. He felt like he was in a bubble, with everything outside of it. He didn’t speak for hours. Bucky had no classes with him that day, and he’d skipped homeroom. He thought of the saying “no news is good news”. If Sarah didn’t tell him she was sick, he could live in a world where she was both well and sick at the same time.

“Ignorance is bliss”. That was the other one he thought of.

He walked down to the art room after school but didn’t pick up the paintbrush. They were meant to be painting the panels that would make up the mural. Megan sat beside him, her music on loud enough for him to hear as he stared into space.

“Steve?”

“I should go home.”

He walked out before Megan could stop him. He walked home, shivering. He didn’t put on his jacket. Maybe he left it in his locker, he couldn’t remember. He was home and unlocking the apartment door, knowing he’d have to face it sooner rather than later.

“It’s in my bones, Stevie.”

She’d have months left at the most. He knew it killed her, telling her only child that he’d soon be alone and defenceless. She sat on his bed, her hand in his. He woke up the next day and went to school as if nothing had changed, when truthfully the world had cracked open, split beyond repair.

Sarah spoke to Judith a few days later, and Bucky met Steve at his locker the next day, pulling him into a hug. Steve was numb. He couldn’t keep still. If he did, he’d cry and then he might never stop.

Megan must have heard someone talking about it, whispering something in class. He never told her his mom was sick. She pulled him into a hug wordlessly one afternoon.

They finished the mural and he brought his mom to see it. She took photographs with a disposable camera. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d only have those memories for a little while longer before she was gone.

Sarah was in near constant pain. Steve despised the cruelty of it all. It was deeply unfair, and it struck a chord. None of this made any sense. The world was a horrible place, and he was struggling to keep his head above the sea of bad thoughts.

He was pulled out of school toward the end of November. Thanksgiving came and went while Sarah was in hospital. Sarah held her rosary beads in one bony hand while Steve held her other hand between his. Judith was there every moment she could spare. Bucky came by, and Sarah always winked at him, even when she was too weak to speak.

Megan came by a few days into December and gave Sarah a drawing of her and Steve together. She said they had the same eyes.

She began to drift in and out of consciousness. Steve would sit and read, waiting for her to come around, but most of the time he just watched her breathe, the TV playing in the background. The doctors said she didn’t have long. Sarah needed to gather those closest to her. Steve watched people come and go, all of them crying. Judith got off work and brought Bucky, who looked a mess.

Steve didn’t need to know what he looked like. He had some idea – he felt rubbed raw and sick with dread. He hadn’t said much to her in several hours because he didn’t want a big audience.

The last thing she ever said was when they were alone. It took several attempts for Sarah to get her words out, but she managed to reach his ears eventually.

“I won’t be… gone for long. Not that far… away.”

Steve could swear he felt his heart break. “Ma.”

“… I love you. My little guy.”

He jumped up from his chair, moving as close to her as he could, pulling her toward him. She felt smaller in his arms as he held her, burying his face in her neck.

He heard someone behind him make a little strangled sob and he turned his head to see Judith standing there with Bucky, her hand covering her mouth. Steve moved back, putting Sarah down on her pillows. Bucky grabbed Judith’s hand and she sobbed, her eyes squeezing shut.

Steve brushed Sarah’s face with his fingers.

“It’s okay, Ma. You can let go now. You can let go.”

“Oh, God,” he heard Bucky whimper and he glanced at him, seeing his friend begin to cry.

Sarah lasted another two hours. The doctors and nurses kept coming by to check on her, but the atmosphere had changed. They were all waiting.

Steve held her hand, squeezing it every so often. Sometimes she’d squeeze back, but most of the time she was passed out.

She left them, sometime between 2 and 3 AM, and Steve sniffled.

She was there, and then she was gone.

“What am I going to do tomorrow?” he murmured, to no-one in particular.

It was a question he knew no-one could rightly answer, at least not in a way that would assure him. What was he meant to do without his mom?

They took some of Sarah’s flowers and cards with them when they left. They went back to the Barnes’ apartment and Steve lay on the floor of Bucky’s room, staring at the ceiling like he did all those months ago. He kept thinking about Sarah in the present sense, constantly reminding himself that never again would she be there.

She’d never move again. Her body was meant to be transported to a funeral parlor Judith helped organize a couple days ago. He and Judith needed to go back tomorrow to arrange the wake. He tried to remember everything, every little thing Sarah had done. He tried to think of his earliest memory.

He was three, waking up from a nap. He got out of bed and wandered into the living room, seeing Sarah sitting on the couch with her bare feet up, wearing a summer dress. He remembered the times she would dance to Whitney Houston while she cleaned, the endless hours he spent with her walking through the city, the nights when he was so sick she slept beside him because she was afraid he wouldn’t get through the night.

“Stevie.”

He glanced up from his bowl of cereal, feeling Bucky’s hand on his shoulder.

“No school today, buddy.”

“Right,” Steve rasped. “No school.”

“I’ll get your homework. I’ll talk to Megan, too. If she’ll let me.”

Steve nodded. His throat hurt. His eyes hurt. He swiped at his running nose. He knew this day was coming and yet it still felt so sudden.

Bucky cuddled him, kissing his cheek.

“I love you.”

He’d never said that before. Steve knew he loved him, but hearing it out loud was another thing entirely, and he nodded, more tears spilling over. Bucky did the same to Judith before leaving for school.

Steve met with the director of the funeral parlor. Steve didn’t know the first thing about organizing something like a wake or a plot for his mom’s remains. The code words used for “dead body” were endless, but Steve barely took notice of anything going on that day. He half wished he went to school, just to be around something other than the feeling of noticing his mom gone.

He’d take a beating over this feeling any day. He wished it was him.

 _He wished it was him_.

“You’re gonna stay with me, honey,” Judith said, when they were alone again.

He nodded. Sarah had told him she wanted Judith to be his guardian.

“We’ll take a few weekends to pack everything up so you can make yourself at home with us,” she added, putting her arm around him. “But there’s no hurry. Your mom spoke to your landlord, and they’re aware of the situation.”

He nodded again dumbly.

He barely touched his food. He was aware of going to bed but he didn’t know if he ever slept. Bucky would go to school and come back, whole days gone by in a flash. Steve lay down a lot, crying silently. Other times he’d forget something he’d miss about his mom – like the feel of her soft skin, and he’d break down, winded as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

He was a mess. He didn’t know how anyone managed to live after losing their family. He didn’t know how his own mom or Judith ever managed to survived being widows.

The wake was held at the Barnes’ apartment, with people from Sarah’s work and high school coming by. She was an orphan so there was no family for Steve to meet. People were crying a lot, and Steve felt eyes on him. Bucky stood by him the whole afternoon, his hand on his shoulder. Occasionally he held his hand or hugged him. Steve hated his dress shoes, they were way too big, but it mattered to him that he looked good for his mom.

Christmas went by quietly and the New Year was a small affair in the living room. Steve went back to school ten pounds lighter, more vulnerable than ever to his bullies. It was as though Sarah’s death had drawn a line in the sand, and Steve was surprised to learn that the people who used to torture him daily were giving him some type of vacation.

He wasn’t going to get used to it, though. It also didn’t help that people whispered around him, went quiet and couldn’t mention death without being mortified in his presence. Steve didn’t care. He was only at school because he had to be, and if he was going to take more time off of school, he’d be alone at home while Judith was working all day.

Megan met up with him on his first day back, taking him by the arm and steering him outside. They listened to music, started writing a comic strip together and took turns crying. Megan’s mom invited him over for dinner a couple times, but it felt odd. Megan wasn’t herself at home, Steve felt. She went quiet, hated her mom mentioning anything too heavy. From what Steve could see, Megan’s mom had a lousy taste in men, and her latest boyfriend took one look of Steve and said, “Well, shit. This one hasn’t had his growth spurt yet”.

Megan didn’t ask Steve to come back after that. They hung out sometimes after school in the library, whispering to each other. Occasionally, Bucky would show up with a girl on his arm, but more often he was alone. He wasn’t doing so well at school. It was as if he’d stopped pretending he cared.

They slept in the same room, Steve’s bed squeezed in there. Over time, Steve became the ideal son. He was polite and neat, always studying and never talking back. Judith would hiss under her breath about how Steve was doing well despite everything, as if Bucky had no excuse. Not that Steve ever heard about it from Bucky – he eavesdropped too often, and he knew Bucky was ashamed in his own way. Judith was rougher with him, and Steve thought it was because they had a volatile relationship, each level-headed discussion dissolving quickly into bickering. He knew the older Bucky got, the more aggressive he became, as if turning back into his eight year-old self that sized each person up.

When summer came, Steve hoped things would settle. He’d feel better, maybe stop wanting to cry so much. He missed his mom constantly, like a low hum in the background of every day, and his first birthday without her hurt. He pretended he appreciated Judith’s efforts, but inside he wished everyone forgot about it.

That Fourth of July weekend was the first party Steve ever went to. Bucky knew some older kids through a girl he met after school a couple of times. It was a high school party, and Steve knew he’d stick out. He’d hardly grown in the last year, only buying new clothes because he got holes in them.

He wore a new t-shirt on the subway, while he and Bucky counted the coins they had between them. This was all a new territory for Steve, and he followed every one of Bucky’s instructions.

“If any prick’s on your tail, I’ll handle them, okay?” he said, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I don’t go lookin’ for fights, Buck,” he said.

“You sure about that?” Bucky threw back.

He could feel Bucky’s eyes watching him as he looked out the window, at the lights whipping by as they rode into the night. He couldn’t remember what their cover story was, but he knew Judith was no fool. Bucky seemed to have stopped caring about disappointing her since she got his last report card at the end of the school year.

High school would be a new start. It had to be.

Megan showed up on the street corner near the party, dressed in all-black. Steve forgot he invited her, and Bucky’s eyebrows hiked.

It wasn’t that he didn’t get along with Megan. He tried many times to be her friend, but she always rebuffed him like some annoying bug she flicked away.

She towered over them both in her platform heels, her hands crossed.

“You gatecrashin’?” Bucky said, and she blinked at him a couple times.

“Anyway,” she said to Steve. “You ready?”

“I could get away with him being my plus-one, maybe not so much you,” Bucky said, as if she hadn’t ignored him.

“I know the girl whose place it is.”

“Bullshit,” Steve said, smiling. “Who is she?”

“She goes to the Catholic school. St. Clare’s or whatever,” Bucky said.

“ _Her name_ is Ellen, and she goes to St. Margaret’s,” Megan snapped. “I used to go there. She was one of the only cool girls.”

From what Steve had learned of Megan’s past, she left St. Margaret’s because she was being bullied by other girls after her stepfather was sent to jail. She was pulled out of school and did some catching up during the summer before she met Steve.

“She’ll remember you?” Bucky muttered, and Megan narrowed her eyes.

“Yes. I’m a delight to be around.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed at her sass and Megan turned her heel, stalking off. Steve glanced at Bucky, seeing his friend’s eyes drop to her ass.

“Leave her alone,” Steve said, and Bucky gave an elaborate shrug.

“What? She’s the one with the problem.”

“I mean, stop staring at her butt –”

Megan turned her head, causing Steve to shut his mouth.

“What, you think I can’t hear you two morons?” she drawled, her cheeks a little pinker. “Come on.”

The boys fell silent as they sped to catch up. They arrived at Ellen’s house ten minutes later, hearing the music from outside. Bucky was the one who knocked.

The front door was unlocked and they let themselves in. Steve was hit with a wave of odors – beer, sweat and weed – and he could see kids of varying teenage years racing around, drinking and laughing while music pumped through large speakers propped up by the empty fireplace.

A girl with French braids came over, holding a red plastic cup with a grin on her face.

“Oh, my God. You know Meg?” she screamed, and Bucky nodded.

She came toward them, tugging Bucky into a kiss that lasted longer than Steve felt comfortable, and he suspected Bucky felt the same way. He looked almost shy when Ellen broke away, pulling Megan into a tight hug, hopping up and down.

She was tipsy, edging toward drunk. Bucky was tugged along by his hand and Megan followed, so Steve decided to do the same, weaving through kids to get to the kitchen.

“Help yourselves. We have vodka, too. Hayley made Jell-O shots.”

Steve glanced around at the huge table covered in bottles. These Catholic school kids seemed to go hard, but Steve didn’t have much to compare it to. By the way that Bucky’s eyes lit up, it was probably more than what he’d seen at other parties with the poorer kids of Brooklyn.

“I wanna get drunk,” Steve said, and Ellen began to laugh.

“Awesome.”

Bucky hesitated, but Steve took a step forward and grabbed a beer can, popping it open and putting it to his lips.

It wasn’t what he expected. It wasn’t cold enough and the condensation made the can slippery in his hand. It tasted a little bitter, but he managed a few gulps before stopping.

“Whoa, slow down,” Megan said. She was still pouring her own drink of vodka and Coke, while Bucky opened his own can of beer.

Steve felt a burp rise up and he covered his mouth. Megan threw back her drink in three gulps, pouring another one immediately.

“Hey, I could…” Ellen said, moving closer to Bucky again to touch his bare forearm, running her nails along it. “Show you the rest of the place?”

Bucky nodded, a smile forming. He glanced at Steve.

“I’m fine.”

He departed, and Megan wrinkled her nose.

“She could do better.”

Steve snorted, taking another gulp of his beer. Megan cocked her head and they walked through the kitchen to the living room where the music blasted. Steve could hear the vibrations through his chest.

No-one was really dancing, kids were sitting around drinking or smoking and Steve thought about his inhaler in his pocket. He’d be embarrassed if he started coughing uncontrollably, so he kept his hand on his nose while Megan watched him, her eyebrows quirking.

“We could go outside.”

“Okay,” he said.

They wandered out the back. Steve never had a garden growing up, so grass behind the place you lived in was still a novelty to him. Kids were lying down and staring up at the sky, and Steve took a lungful of air while Megan grabbed another couple beers and a bottle of Smirnoff from a bucket of ice on the back step.

She unscrewed the vodka and took a sip, Steve’s eyes meeting hers. She seemed an expert, while Steve sipped his second beer awkwardly, wondering if he could pretend it wasn’t his second alcoholic drink ever. They drank and talked about their comic until Bucky showed up, sweaty and bright-eyed.

His arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, Bucky’s lips brushing his temple. Steve shoved him, laughing.

“Get off.”

“Jesus, what are you on?” Megan said to Bucky, who looked like he’d just noticed she was sitting there.

“What, you want some?” Bucky replied, kissing Steve again.

Steve angled his head away from him, as Megan threw back more vodka. Her gaze had gone hazy. Steve felt kind of sleepy, and full of bubbles. He burped again and Bucky giggled.

Megan frowned. “How much?”

“Five bucks.”

“Okay,” she said. She pulled out some notes from the front of her shirt, Steve looking away as she fished them out. Bucky didn’t.

Bucky walked off, coming back with a couple sticks of gum, nudging Steve with one.

“You’ll owe me.”

“What is it?” Steve asked, though he had some idea.

“It’s not that strong,” Bucky said.

The fact that Bucky had any frame of reference for drugs boggled Steve’s mind. What the hell had his friend been up to over the years?

Maybe it was the beer making his mind unfocused, but he paused to think about what else Bucky knew that he didn’t, only to have Megan prompt him with the toe of her shoe to his hip. She was already chewing her gum.

Steve unwrapped his, looking down at it. It looked like Big Red gum.

“What is it?”

“Lysergic acid diethylamide,” Megan said, chewing. “Acid.”

It tasted like if Steve sucked on a coin. He drank some more beer to wash out his mouth a little, chewing the gum while Bucky put his arm around him again.

“Wanna play Truth or Dare?”

Megan scoffed. “Are you twelve?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bucky replied, and she smirked.

“Fine, if Steve’s up for it,” Megan drawled, back to treating Bucky like she was bored with him.

Steve nodded, chewing. He wondered how long it would be until he felt weird. He knew he was already a little affected by the beer.

“You go first,” he blurted to Bucky, whose eyebrows rose.

He was swaying them side to side with his arm around his shoulders.

“Okay.”

“Truth or dare?” Megan asked, before Steve had a chance to.

“Truth,” Bucky said. “I like bein’ honest.”

“How far have you gone with a girl?” Megan fired back, and Bucky began to laugh.

He rubbed his eye with a finger, Megan’s eyebrows rising challengingly.

“Popped my cherry just now.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “What?”

“No wonder you stink,” Megan muttered, and she didn’t sound surprised at all. She licked her lips. “I still think Ellen could do better.”

“Me, too,” Bucky muttered, not missing a beat. “Your turn.”

Steve didn’t think Bucky smelt any different. He was a little sweaty, but it was July. Steve stared at the side of Bucky’s face, seeing something pass over him and pushed away in the second it took for Megan to speak again.

“Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” Steve and Bucky said together.

Bucky cleared his throat. “What about you? How far have you been with -?”

“Bucky, don’t,” Steve cut in, knowing it wasn’t a subject they could breach with Megan.

“It’s fine,” Megan said. “I feel like talking. Ask.”

“How far have you been with a… girl?”

That surprised Steve. He expected him to take the route of the guys in their grade, whispering about her stepfather doing time.

Megan flushed, looking away. Bucky had hit a nerve.

“You don’t have to answer,” Bucky said a second later, sounding different. “I’m being a jackass.”

“You’re right, but I’ll answer,” she replied, picking up her bottle again and unscrewing the cap. “I’ve got to second base.”

“Who was it?” Steve blurted, and Megan made a face.

“That’s more than one question.”

“Kind of deserves an answer though,” Bucky said, chuckling. “I had sex with Ellen and you both know about it.”

“How long did that last?” Megan asked, and Bucky smiled wider.

“Like, a minute. What did you expect?”

If she was anyone else, Steve could have sworn they were flirting, but Megan tipped her head back to drink more vodka.

Their laughter warped, and Steve remembered his gum. Bucky was running his fingers up and down Steve’s arm, making goose bumps break out along his skin and Steve shuddered, making his friends laugh harder.

“Stevie, your turn,” Bucky said. “And we’ve been playin’ it wrong, you’re meant to choose truth or dare, not the people asking.”

Steve remembered and smiled, his muscles feeling looser, longer even. He looked at Megan.

“Truth or dare,” she said, and he smiled at her.

“Dare,” he said. Then a beat. “I wanna kiss you.”

Megan burst out laughing, spilling some of her vodka down her wrist. Steve could make out some of the scars on her skin that were wet with alcohol.

“Okay, I dare you to make out with Megan,” Bucky said.

Steve expected her to flip them both off and make him choose truth. He didn’t care about her knowing he wanted to kiss her. Maybe it showed on his face, anyway. It was so much better being honest with her. He always felt like there were pieces he kept hidden away, several different versions of himself to show the people in his life.

Megan put down her bottle, wiping her hands on her legs, shuffling closer. Steve felt his heart rate go straight up, as if he was leaning over the ledge of a tall building. It felt like the field trip they took to the Empire State Building several years ago. 

They both spat out their gum, Megan tossing hers behind her shoulder while Steve stuck his to his beer can.

He took too long, so Megan grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him. Her lips were wet and soft against his, her mouth opening a second later to let his tongue slip inside. He brought his hand up to touch the side of her face and he closed his eyes, feeling the glide of her tongue against his, the push and pull as they tangled.

He hadn’t kissed anyone else since Lucy last summer. He felt better, so much more relaxed, and he sighed. He did what he’d wanted to do for months and thread his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck.

Her hand landed on his waist and she squeezed, before breaking off the kiss. He moved to do it again, before remembering Bucky sitting behind them and he blushed, hands dropping to his sides.

Megan put her hand to her mouth, blinking several times as Bucky began to laugh. Steve shot him a look and he kept going, throwing his head back.

“I don’t think either of you thought that was gonna be good, and now you’re broken…”

He kept laughing as Steve shuffled back, wiping his mouth as discreetly as possible. He tried his best to subtly adjust himself in his shorts, too, wondering if Megan noticed.

“I’m… fucked up,” she said, and he nodded.

Steve leaned back, looking at Bucky. “Your turn. Truth or dare.”

“I think we’re done.”

“No,” Steve said, a little too quickly. “I want to keep going.”

“I’ll go find Ellen, then I might come back,” Bucky said, looking pleased with himself.

He winked at Megan before standing up, grabbing the other beer that sat unopened. He staggered off, leaving Megan and Steve alone.

“I didn’t know you liked girls,” he murmured, and then felt his cheeks go redder.

Megan moved closer to him again, making him freeze up. He could make out all the shades of hazel in her eyes, all the more emphasised by how dark her eye makeup was.

“I didn’t know you liked girls,” she replied, and Steve ducked his head.

“I’m not… _gay_ ,” he whispered.

“I don’t really care either way, Steve,” she replied.

She rested her head on his shoulder and he felt himself loosen, his arm coming up to wrap around her shoulder. He stared at a succulent sitting in a tiny pot for several minutes, unsure of why it was so interesting to him but he couldn’t make himself look away.

“You better not puke on me,” Megan muttered.

“I don’t think I’m gonna,” he mumbled.

“Well, _don’t_.”

She took a swig of vodka, smacking her lips.

“Shitty fucking year so far,” she said. “Surprised Bucky didn’t ask me about my stepdad.”

“He’s not that bad a person,” Steve said. “Otherwise I wouldn’t love him.”

Megan pulled back, searching his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not, that’s gross,” Steve replied instantly.

He’d thought about Bucky finding out about liking Obi Wan and freaking out, pushing him away. He knew he wasn’t that narrow-minded, but Steve was in no rush to tell him the truth.

“Virginity is a social construct, I hope you realize that,” she slurred. “If you want to be technical about it, I haven’t been a virgin since I was nine years-old.”

“Why didn’t –?” Steve began, but then he cut himself off, feeling shame.

“What?”

“Why didn’t… your mom stop him?”

“She didn’t know,” she replied, shrugging. “At least, not at first.”

“At first?” Steve repeated, horrified.

She sounded so matter-of-fact about it that it made Steve’s heart ache. He caught her hand in his and squeezed it.

“She used to turn up the TV. He’d… let himself in my room, or the bathroom when I was in the tub.”

“Why are you still living with her?” he whispered.

“Got nowhere else to go,” she murmured.

She tilted her head up to his and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Could be worse,” she murmured, a little smile forming.

“Yeah,” he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd never made myself cry while writing before today and Sarah's death changed that. I know I chose this to happen for my story, and I'm sorry if anyone else's wounds have been reopened but I wanted to challenge myself, especially as someone who has lost family to cancer. 
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com)


	6. Part Six: Emerald

_With every mistake we must surely be learning_

\- "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by The Beatles

**Part Six: Emerald**

Steve either fell asleep or passed out. He didn’t ever know, but he woke up later with the grass beneath him. He remembered Megan in his arms.

He turned over to see Bucky standing with Megan, and he feels bile run through him at the sight of them kissing. His eyes widened and he sat up, watching as Bucky took her apart with ease, and Megan returned his touch like it was practiced.

“Hey.”

They broke apart, and Ellen hit Bucky with the back of her hand, and he caught her wrist. Megan went bright red, her eyes swiveling to Steve on the ground. The colors swirled around him as he attempted to stand up. He struggled, hearing Ellen start to scream at Bucky, other people turning to watch the argument.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, too, bitch!” Ellen added, moving toward Megan. She glanced at Bucky, her eyes full of tears. “Did she tell you about her dad?”

“He’s not my dad!” Megan yelled. She looked bug-eyed, sweat on her face.

Steve glanced around to find his shoes and pulled them on. He wanted to leave, he was so sick of being near these people. He wanted to go home, not the Barnes’ place, but _home_ home. He remembered there was no way to do that, he didn’t even have keys for that apartment anymore.

“She liked it! She liked it when he had sex with her! Did she tell you that?” Ellen screamed, and Steve’s eyes darted to Megan, and she’s crying.

“Get out,” Ellen said, shoving at Bucky.

He doesn’t say a word, just lets her hit him again and again and Steve wondered why he wasn’t trying to make any kind of excuse. Bucky looked sober compared to Megan. His face is like stone and it bothered Ellen even more. He was without remorse.

Steve was tugged out of the garden, the three of them dashing through the house. Steve nearly tripped, but Megan grabbed his hand to steady him. They made it to the street and Ellen threw Bucky’s empty beer can after them, liquid spilling on Steve’s shoes.

Steve kept looking at them, so many questions on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t dare ask them. He didn’t want to know the answers. He felt like a hurt little kid, following them down the street to the subway. Without thinking, he put his head on Bucky’s shoulder as they thundered along. When they get to their stop, Bucky pulled Steve along by the arm.

Steve threw up when they got to the street level again and Megan glanced away, looking her own shade of nauseous.

“How long is this meant to last?” Steve mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Nothing felt entirely solid still. Walking felt like he was stumbling even when he moved slower. Bucky rubbed his shoulder, shrugging.

“Few more hours.”

“My place is this way,” Megan said, gesturing to the street corner in the distance.

The scars on her arms wriggle under Steve’s gaze and he looked away. He knew they’d be in trouble with Judith tomorrow, but all he cared about then was lying down again. They followed Megan until they got to her apartment block and she put a finger to her lips.

She let them in, the three of them walking through the apartment in the dark. Steve thought about how it would be easy to sneak up on them and he groaned, Bucky’s hand grabbing his to assure him. When they reach Megan’s door a light switched on and Steve jumped.

Megan’s mom squinted at them, her robe wrapped around her. She glanced at the two boys and then Megan.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s okay, Mom. We’re going to bed.”

“I’ve got work in the morning, Meg. You know that.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Megan muttered, her cheeks going pink. She ducked her head and her mom sighed, turning away to go back to her room.

Steve stared after her, floored by her lack of concern. He was sure they stank of booze, and anyone could see they were stoned. Steve could barely stand. He was tugged into the room by Megan, and she flipped on her desk light and kicked off her shoes.

Bucky took off his shirt as Steve froze, wondering what to do. Megan stripped down to her underwear, Bucky copying her. Steve finally put his arms down, his hands finding the bottom of his shirt. He tugged it off awkwardly like he couldn’t control himself properly.

Bucky helped him, and soon they lay down, the three of them squashed into the bed. Steve lay in the middle, his head swimming. He tried not to think about Megan being this close to him, after everything they did at the party. He remembered seeing her kiss Bucky and he closed his eyes, hot tears forming.

“Steve?” Megan whispered, and he shook his head.

He woke later, his nose tickled. He could hear whispers above his head and he kept his eyes closed, listening.

“Are you jealous or something?”

Megan sounded like she was teasing Bucky. Steve’s friend made a soft sigh and Steve waited for his response.

“No. I don’t have girlfriends.”

“How convenient. Poor Ellen,” Megan muttered.

“ _You_ kissed _me_ ,” Bucky retorted. “And Ellen knew I wasn’t her boyfriend. I thought she was with Gus still, anyway.”

Steve flexed his fingers and felt something soft – skin. He snapped his eyes open and realized he was pressed up against Megan’s body, his hand on her bare waist. From his spot under the covers, he could see all of Megan, her body marked all over with scars. One cut was scabbing over on her hip bone and Steve winced, thinking about how that must sting.

He faked waking up, grunting. Megan looked down at him, his nose bumping her neck.

“You hungover?”

“I dunno,” Steve mumbled.

He slid his hand down her waist to her hip, this thumb barely missing her cut and Megan’s eyes widened.

She sat up, pulling the cover off her before leaving the bed, going to her closet to grab something to wear. Steve glanced at Bucky, seeing he wasn’t watching her dress.

“Breakfast?” she said, pulling down her emerald green dress covered in black hearts.

Bucky’s eyebrows hiked. “Nah, we’ll head home.”

Steve could have sworn Megan was disappointed but she covered it quickly, nodding. She shrugged.

“Cool. Well, you know your way out.”

As predicted, Judith had tried calling the kid whose house Bucky said they were staying at last night. She got to her shrill volume within a minute of their return, which made Steve’s head throb. She yelled at Bucky, even going so far as to say it would be his fault if anything happened to Steve. That made Bucky switch to aggressive, yelling back at her that he wasn’t a baby, that she had no idea what he got up to. That only made Judith turn up the volume further, causing their neighbour to knock on the wall, yelling for them to keep the noise down.

“SHUT UP!” Bucky roared, and Judith slapped him.

Bucky froze, stunned at the sudden assault, his hand going to rub his red cheek. Judith covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head. She tried to touch Bucky to apologize, to soothe him, but he ripped away from her, his eyes fierce.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me,” he snapped, and he stalked off, the front door slamming.

Ninth grade started off with everyone learning about how Bucky lost his virginity at a party on the Fourth of July, several boys crowding him as Steve sat close by during their first day at school. Bucky denied anything to do with Megan, calling it bullshit. Steve wondered why he wasn’t talking about her like all the other girls.

Was he ashamed of kissing her?

Did that mean Steve should be ashamed, too, because Megan wasn’t one of the cool kids?

He didn’t know what to make of that. It disappointed him that Bucky was that shallow. He watched him not say a word when the guys kept talking about Megan when she walked by them during recess. Steve hadn’t spent much time with her the last few weeks. It was as if the party had changed everything.

He felt like a kid before the summer, and now he was something different. He hated it. Everything felt upside down, and everyone was pretending like it wasn’t the case. He felt lonelier.

He finally got a chance to see Megan when they had their first art class together. They filed into the classroom and he waved to her as she walked in. She ducked her eyes, moving quickly to sit beside him.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you ages,” he said.

“Yeah,” she replied, and she kept glancing around at the other kids at the other tables. “What’s new?”

Steve lowered his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she snapped. Then she sighed. “Sorry. I’m stressed. Suddenly there are a million things to worry about. My schedule sucks, I’m broke…”

“We could get a job.”

That’s how Steve and Megan ended up working at the same grocery store Sarah worked at for years. Judith had moved onto a doctor’s office several blocks away and worked there as a receptionist. She was still able to get them both shifts after school and most weekends.

The bullying started up again. Apparently there was a limit to how much sympathy other kids had for Steve, and more often he was hiding in the library or spending time in the art room. He thought it would be better for Bucky, too, because he was always trying to look after him.

Things at home were often tense between Judith and Bucky. He stopped telling the truth. He went to parties without Steve. He copied other kids’ homework. He plagiarised a lot of his essays. The only class he was excelling at was drama, but Judith didn’t approve of it.

“You need Math and English for when you graduate and get a job.”

She said this at the table the night she got Bucky’s first report card as a freshman. Steve got straight A’s, his report card stuck on the refrigerator.

“Doin’ what?” Bucky said with a snort, stabbing a roast potato. “Workin’ in an office like you?”

“Oh, ha, ha,” she muttered. “I know you’ll be like your daddy, probably working in construction.”

Bucky made a face at that. “Nope.”

“Then what? Why don’t you see the guidance counselor?” Judith said, and Bucky shot Steve a look.

“Help, Stevie. Help.”

“James, I’m serious.”

“Ma, I’m fourteen,” he said, putting down his fork with a clatter. “You can’t expect me to know already what I want to do with the rest of my life. That’s puttin’ unnecessary pressure on me. You’ll traumatize me.”

Judith narrowed her eyes, a smirk forming despite herself. “Don’t get cute.”

“I thought I was adorable,” Bucky retorted, tilting his head. “I mean, you used to say it, Ma. Adorable lil’ troublemaker.”

“That’s wearing off, James. You’re too big to be acting like a schmuck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

That night when Steve was sitting at the tiny desk in their room, Bucky was lying on his bed reading a book while Steve went over his homework. Bucky kept glancing at the clock while Steve worked, being very distracting. Steve kept putting down his pen and shooting Bucky looks.

“You gonna study?”

“Later.”

“When –?”

There was a knock on their door and Judith stood in the doorway, crossing her arms.

“I’m out, seeing some girlfriends. Michelle’s eldest is getting married, she’s a little… upset about the fiancée,” Judith said to Steve. She knocked the door to get Bucky’s attention. “Hey. Go to bed at 11, okay? I’ll be back later.”

“Okay,” Steve replied, looking down at his paper.

She moved to kiss Bucky on the forehead, and then she went to kiss Steve. He knew what the look in her eye meant – he was in charge. Not that it meant anything to Bucky.

He closed his book when Judith left, jumping up from his bed to wander into the hallway. Steve could hear him on the phone, murmuring something before putting it back on the hook.

He lay back down in bed and Steve stared at his paper, trying to get the words in the right order. It was another couple minutes before there was a tap on the window and Bucky bounced over to it to open it.

Steve’s eyebrows hiked as he recognized a redhead from his Physics class.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hi, Emily,” he replied. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” she murmured, beaming up at Bucky, who’d come to life.

He moved toward her, whispering something in her ear that made her cheeks turn pink. Steve frowned, before remembering it made him look like a Quaker in a whorehouse when he did that.

Bucky’s words, not his.

“See you,” Emily called, and Bucky turned back for a second, his jacket pulled on.

“See you later, buddy,” he said, and Steve nodded.

Bucky climbed out of the window, and Steve could hear them giggling as they went down the fire escape. Steve rubbed his eyes, suddenly tired.

He was labeling cans of creamed corn a couple days later when he felt someone smack into the back of him, and he stumbled, dropping a can on the floor. There was a chorus of snickering behind him and he got up, spinning around to see three sophomores towering over him.

He tried his best not to react to bullies anymore, but it was made harder when it was always unprovoked. It felt like there was nothing he could do to make it go away. He wasn’t big enough to scare them. He wasn’t quick enough to get away, not that he ever ran from a fight.

He couldn’t remember the reason they gave or whether they even gave one as they followed him home after his shift, grabbing his back and taking out his week’s pay.

“Give it back!”

He was slammed to the ground by a punch to his stomach, and he felt his hands scrape on the sidewalk, wincing in pain as he slowly stood up.

A smack across his face, a proper punch that sent him falling down again. He kept getting back up. He wasn’t going to stay down out of choice. They were going to have to knock him out to make him lie down.

“HEY!”

He stared blearily toward the familiar voice and saw Bucky standing next to him.

“The fuck are you doin’?”

“Fuck off, Barnes.”

“Fuckin’ pick on somebody your own size,” he went on. He’d balled his hands into fists, his expression livid. “Come on.”

“Buck,” Steve said weakly, shaking his head. He didn’t want Bucky fighting again.

His friend ignored him, instead taking two of the guys at once, managing to punch one of them and wrestle with the other. The third guy came at him from behind and Bucky flung himself away, throwing more punches. It sounded painful, and by the time it was over, Bucky’s nose was bleeding, his shirt ruined.

The three guys raced off, not before dropping Steve’s wallet on the ground. Bucky picked it up, limping a little as he helped Steve down the street.

Bucky was suspended from school. Steve was stunned that they didn’t take their word over the bullies, that it was all self-defence. The afternoon after Bucky’s first day at home, Judith was wringing her hands, sobbing as Bucky tried to keep his eyes focused on the wall opposite him.

Steve knew him better – he wasn’t staring into space because he felt nothing. Bucky felt too much and he was shutting down. Steve watched Judith dissolve into frustrated tears, eventually putting her face into her hands. For several minutes, the three of them sat in silence, until Judith wiped her face, sniffing.

“James, if you end up in jail…”

“Ma,” Bucky hissed, coming back to life. He glared at her.

“You _both_ need to hear it!” she yelled, and Bucky’s mouth snapped shut. “If you end up in juvie, Steve will not live with us anymore. Social services will take him away.”

Bucky blinked a couple times, his eyes swinging to Steve.

“Do you understand?” Judith hissed, and Bucky’s throat bobbed.

He looked like he could cry. He looked at the floor instead. The conversation was dropped. Bucky went back to school two days later. He didn’t immediately throw himself into school. If anything, he was worse, he just got better at not getting caught.

He snuck out of class, he’d do essays on the fly, he’d get girls to share their study notes. The two things he cared about most in life were drama class and Steve.

Bucky managed to scrape by that first year of high school. The three of them – Megan, Bucky and Steve – all worked together through the summer, every so often celebrating the nights. Their world became smaller, and Bucky would snap out of his daydreaming more often when it was the three of them. Steve didn’t make a habit of drinking like Bucky and Megan did, but he managed to let loose every so often. He didn’t like going to work on a sweltering July morning hungover and exhausted. Bucky was the quickest to bounce back, wearing sunglasses indoors and chugging energy drinks as he stacked shelves.

A few weeks into tenth grade, everything changed again. It was during English on a Tuesday morning that a kid from another class came running into the classroom, his backpack on.

“A plane crashed into the World Trade Center.”

He dashed away.

The thirty kids all at their desks began to chatter, a few of them getting out their cell phones. The teacher was appalled, getting up from her chair.

“Everyone, sit down!”

Steve thought about the possibility of that happening – usually planes didn’t fly over that way, it must have been some horrible accident. He thought about what time it was – a lot of people would have already go to work by then since it was after 9AM.

The teacher walked off down the hall. One of the girls whose cell phone was at her ear gasped, flapping a hand.

Steve got up from his chair, hearing people yelling from down the hallway. He glanced around, seeing several teachers convening.

“What – what’s the plan? Steve Rogers, go back inside!”

The girl on her cell phone pushed past Steve, her eyes wide.

“Two planes. My mom is watching it on CNN.”

“Mallory, go back inside.”

“My mom told me she wants me to go home.”

Steve walked back into the classroom, several students asking him what was happening. He shrugged.

“I don’t think the teachers know what to do.”

He packed his belongings and went to find Bucky. He was in the boys’ bathroom on the second floor, and for the first time in Steve’s life, he completely ignored what the teachers were saying as he walked the halls. Other students were leaving, running around and panicking. A few kids were crying because their parents worked in the World Trade Center and they weren’t able to get through to them. Some classrooms had turned on their TVs to watch the coverage. By the time Steve found Bucky, the principal had announced over the P.A. for students to return to their classrooms and await further instructions.

“What happened?” Bucky asked, and Steve didn’t know how to answer him.

They found Megan at her locker, stuffing her bag. Bucky took her by the elbow, and she smacked his arm.

“Hey, I have shit in there -!”

“We’re goin’,” he said.

“Jessica Beaumont said a fire could –”

“A fire from all the way over there’s gonna hit the school? Because of the fuckin’ debris?”

Megan slammed her locker, and Bucky picked up her bag for her before she could change her mind. They walked out of the school with a larger crowd of other students. One of them turned around, grabbing Bucky’s hand and nodding at him.

“’Sup, Barnes? You headin’ to the afterparty?”

Megan made a face and Steve stared at the stranger, while Bucky chuckled.

“Uh, no. Probably shouldn’t. 10AM on a Tuesday.”

“Offer’s there, small thing at Chuckie’s.”

Bucky shrugged and the guy left them alone, joining other friends. Megan shot Bucky a look and he shrugged again.

“What?”

“Your boyfriend know we might be under attack?”

“I’ve never seen that guy before in my life,” Bucky retorted, and Steve believed him. He had a reputation.

When they stepped outside, clouds of black smoke covered the skyline of Manhattan, Steve’s eyes widening at the sheer spectacle of it.

“Let’s go home,” Bucky said, and Steve nodded dumbly. “You, too, Meg.”

They sat in front of the TV for hours, the dread in Steve’s stomach causing knots. Bucky made Megan a sandwich and Steve declined his own, staring at the screen.

“What’s gonna happen to all those people?” Megan whispered.

“They’re all dead,” Bucky said.

He had his secret flask he kept for the weekends, tipping it back as his eyes glazed over. Steve remembered that he dealt with his own tragedy from a young age, and maybe he was less surprised that other kids were.

“All of them?” Megan said, and Bucky shrugged.

“It’s shitty and I hope the people responsible will pay for it, but I doubt it,” he murmured.

He took another gulp from his flask before capping it, tucking it in his pants. Megan put her face in her hands and began to cry. Steve moved closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

Bucky took one of Megan’s hands in his and kissed her knuckles. 

  



	7. Part Seven: Red

_Bye bye love_  
_Bye bye sweet caress_  
_Hello emptiness_  
_I feel like I could die_  
_Bye bye my love goodbye_

\- "Bye Bye Love" by The Everly Brothers

**Part Seven: Red**

Dozen upon dozens of people were staring as Bucky pulled Annie Fitzpatrick off of Julie Wilson one lunch time a few days after the World Trade Center collapsed.

A couple teachers came in and demanded an explanation. All Annie could do was swear black and blue about Bucky cheating on her. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. It wasn’t even the fifth or sixth time. Steve had lost count but he didn’t dare ask Bucky to clarify.

Megan sat beside him at their bench, shaking her head, picking at her food.

“He’s like a puppy,” she murmured, and Steve glanced her way, frowning.

“Who?”

“Bucky,” she said.

“How?” Steve asked. Every so often she’d have these little quips about Bucky, and none of them were kind.

“All those girls, all the time. He goes love me, love me, love me,” she said, looking down at her food again and pushing it around. She gave up, dropping her fork.

“That ain’t fair,” Steve said. “He’s been through a lot.”

Megan scoffed a little at that, like she always did. “We’ve all been through something. Doesn’t give him the right to treat girls that way.”

“Did I say that?” Steve snapped.

Megan glared. “Dude, _whatever_.”

She got up from her seat and stalked out of the cafeteria, and Steve sat alone for the rest of the hour. He tried to convince himself that he wasn’t guilty of anything, but he knew he turned a blind eye when it came to Bucky. He knew if he tried to change his ways he ran the risk of being shoved aside or screamed at like Judith. He didn’t want to deal with a contrite Bucky, either, which was somehow worse than an angry Bucky.

He called Megan that night, her mom telling him off for ringing at a time like that, but he knew Megan wouldn’t be sleeping. She came on the line, sighing.

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He turned his body toward the wall, hiding his face as he leaned against it, the long phone cord twisting. 

“What are you sorry for?” Megan said, but her voice was softer.

They fell silent, Steve listening to her breathing as he tried to think of what to say. The whole city was in a bad way. The news was horrific. So many people had died, but they didn’t know how many. The air still smelt of ash. Some kids hadn’t returned to school yet because parents were afraid something might happen again. Some kids weren’t ever coming back.

“Steve.”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I’ve got bad news.”

He wondered what on Earth could top all the bad news he’d got in his life.

“I was gonna tell you at lunch, but then…”

“What is it?” Steve didn’t want to wait any longer.

Megan took a deep breath and let it go with a sigh.

“I’m moving. Mom wants to move to Ohio.”

Steve blinked.

“What? Why?”

“The attack. And she was thinking about it anyway, with her boyfriend.”

Megan’s mother had only been seeing this guy for a few months, from what Steve could remember. Those things tended to fizzle out, so his immediate reaction was to dismiss it. There was no way her mother was serious.

“Okay,” he said, drawing out the word.

“She means it. I’m not coming back after Halloween. She’s buying me a new bedframe. Well, semi-new if we go to the right Good Will.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. “So she’s gonna drag you to Ohio to live in her boyfriend’s house. Doesn’t he have a son?”

“Yeah, and I met him and I hate him. He’s an asshole,” Megan said, sighing. “I have to squeeze into the study. I asked my mom if I could take the attic because it’s bigger but she said no, like an idiot.”

Steve smirked, thinking of Megan in an attic, drawing ravens and witches on big canvases with charcoal, looking down at the world through a window at the very top of the house.

She didn’t laugh. Steve felt his heart sink.

“You’re serious,” he said, more statement than question.

“Yeah.”

“Tell your mom you have to stay. Tell her you can live with us,” Steve said.

“I tried to. She’s been on this for weeks. I didn’t believe her until what happened with the Towers.”

Steve hated that they were always being told by their teachers to grow up but they were still treated as children.

“Don’t let her take you,” he said, his tone firmer. “Don’t back down.”

“If I stay with you and Mrs. Barnes, the state will say I was kidnapped. And then you’d end up in a foster home or something,” Megan said. Her voice began to waver. “Steve… you know this is real life, right?”

Steve’s throat felt tight. He didn’t want to lose her. This all felt so unfair.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I heard you. I know it is.”

-

 _“This morning we have a special guest whose work includes Oscar-winning films such as_ Brooklyn Baby _as well, of course,_ The Death of a Marriage _. She has won our hearts and we are so happy to welcome Darcy Lewis to our studio this morning.”_

Steve watched the clip as he sat in the airport lounge, his ankles crossed, his baseball cap lowered to cover the majority of his face. He kept the volume of his earphones low in case there were any announcements. He sipped his coffee as Darcy came into view, glowing and smiling at the hosts. She sat down on the couch as the audience clapped.

_“We haven’t seen you in forever! You’ve been hiding!”_

_“Yes, but for good reason! Your beautiful baby girl Natalie who turned one recently.”_

Darcy smiled, nodding. _“Yes, we – oh, you have a picture.”_

They showed a photograph of Bucky carrying Natalie in his arms, his sunglasses on. Baby Nats was mostly covered with her blanket, but a little hand could be seen sticking out, balled into a fist.

_“How are things at home? Good?”_

Steve scoffed. As if Darcy would ever tell the press otherwise. She was extremely private. She wasn’t about to divulge much. Steve didn’t know she was even doing any interviews right now. She’d taken a break from working for the summer.

_“Really good. We’re having a lot of time at home, a lot of bonding. He never likes to leave her side.”_

_“Can we ask – can you tell us anything about the next Stephen Strange project?”_

Darcy looked a little surprised but concealed it quickly, the true actor she was. She smiled, giving a little shrug.

_“He’s very tight-lipped, that’s all I can say.”_

_“He’s tight-lipped even with his muse?”_ one of the hosts asked, and Darcy nodded, chuckling.

_“Yeah. I guess so.”_

Steve watched them clumsily ask about her marriage like it was their business, like it had always been their business. Darcy was polite the whole time. Steve knew he’d be an asshole. He knew this was the main reason Bucky never did interviews unless it was to promote his work and his work alone. He had clauses in his contracts that if someone asked about his personal life he could bail out. Steve supposed it was different for Darcy. She seemed okay with handling the intrusiveness.

They finally got to the part that concerned Steve’s agent. It was the sole reason they’d sent him the email with this clip’s URL attached, demanding if it was true.

_“Big rumor we heard over the weekend is that James Barnes will be teaming up with RKB Studios for a Winter Soldier prequel. Any news on that you can tell us?”_

Darcy laughed. _“Gosh, I mean – that’s a rumor older than my baby girl.”_

Steve smiled at that, seeing the mischievous little glint in her eye.

_“There’s a big convention coming up in three weeks. Will James be in California around that time?”_

Darcy smiled wider, shrugging. _“I have no idea.”_

They segued into the charity event Darcy was there to promote. They circled back to Bucky once more for a final attempt at extracting _Winter Soldier_ details.

_“Dream team for this would be Strange and Joseph G. Stevens. Or Christopher Nolan, perhaps, but Stevens writing it either way.”_

_“I’d watch that,”_ Darcy said, smiling. _“Gosh, if only I had a say in those things.”_

So that was why his agent was adamant he call back RKB. They were starting to really bite.

-

Bucky jumped at the chance to throw a party for Megan when Steve told him she was living for Ohio. His best friend clapped him on his shoulder.

“A proper send-off that she won’t remember but she’ll never forget,” Bucky said, and Steve made a face.

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“Stupid like a fox,” Bucky retorted, winking. “So we’ll get booze and hang out in the park.”

Megan didn’t have any other friends, so they’d all be people Steve and Bucky knew. Steve couldn’t imagine her being excited about it, but when he told her, she didn’t outright refuse.

They all converged in the park as the sun was setting on the 27th of October, a Saturday. Steve wore a new shirt and borrowed one of Bucky’s jackets that stank of cologne and cigarettes. Bucky handed Steve the flask that had been hidden in the pocket. It was filled with vodka and Steve hated the taste, but he took a swig to fit in with the rest of the guys.

Megan showed up after an hour, her hands buried in her leather jacket, sizing Steve up and down.

“You know you’ve grown, right?” she said, and Steve tried his best to play it cool.

He had noticed. He took it very seriously, any change that happened with his body. He was finally, finally starting to grow hair in the places his mom told him about years ago. He knew he was a late bloomer, but he’d take it. He shrugged at Megan, and she smiled.

“Okay, Mister Smooth. Where’s -?”

Steve was certain she was about to ask where Bucky was but there was a cheering behind them and they both turned, seeing Bucky with his arms up in victory, licking his lips. He’d obviously just finished drinking something and Megan rolled her eyes.

Bucky started shoving one of the guys, tripping over and laughing with abandon.

“Why does he get so wasted?” Steve muttered. He looked at Megan, and she had that same knowing look on her face.

“Because he hates himself,” she said. She didn’t sound mean. She was sad. “And he likes to hurt sometimes.”

Steve felt his eyes sting and he stared at Bucky laughing on the ground, clearly out of it, seeing the scabs on his elbows, the red little cuts on his face Steve didn’t know the origins of. He thought of all the times in the last couple of years when Bucky would shut down and stare into space, before diving out a window to go fool around with a girl. He still had his dead father’s broken watch in his nightstand drawer and Steve was forbidden to ever touch it since they were little.

Bucky saw they were staring at him and he waved.

“Hey! Meg, c’mere!”

She shook her head, her cheeks going pink. Bucky stumbled to his feet, coming over, walking right up to her, touching her arm.

“I’m glad you made it.”

“Buck, you stink,” she hissed, tugging herself away from him.

He didn’t seem offended at all, he was looking at her like she was a marvel, his gaze unfocused.

“Hey, buddy,” he said to Steve, a lazy smile on his face.

He pulled him into a hug and the other boys began to howl, Steve’s cheeks turning red. Bucky ignored them, his arm slung around Steve’s skinny shoulders.

“You’ll look after him, huh?” Bucky said to Megan and she nodded. “He’s my baby brother, y’know. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Megan bit her lip. “Yeah. Me, neither.”

That hurt Steve deep inside. He didn’t want her to leave. The dread had been coming in waves for the last few weeks. They tried not to talk about it all the time because it made them so sad. Steve met her gaze, seeing her eyes were glassy.

“Got a cigarette?” she mumbled to Bucky. He nodded, fishing one out and lighting it for her.

She took a deep drag, exhaling through her mouth away from Steve, sniffling. Her chin wobbled and she sighed.

“Stevie’s got vodka if you want it.”

That’s when Steve realized Bucky filled it with Megan in mind. Bucky kissed his forehead, shoving him toward Megan with a shit-eating grin and he ran back to the other boys.

Steve and Megan sat together passing the vodka between them. Steve could feel it working its way through him, his stomach warmer, this throat, too. He felt a little queasy and gave the rest to Megan. She held his hand, watching the boys fighting and jumping on one another.

“We can go back to my place, my mom is out.”

Steve felt his stomach flip. He nodded, glancing Bucky’s way. He was passed out on the ground, the other boys laughing and shoving each other.

They dragged Bucky off between them, and every so often he’d come back to life, laughing about something and slurring his words. On the subway he rested his head in the space between Megan’s head and her shoulder, his mouth brushing her skin. Steve was more concerned with whether Bucky was going to choke on his own vomit than how jealous he was.

When they reached Megan’s place, they put him on the couch with his feet up, lying him on his side. They stood back, Megan sighing.

“I’ll get some water,” Steve said, and she nodded.

He’d been over enough to know where everything was. He got a couple glasses, one for Megan and one for Bucky, moving to turn on the faucet. There were boxes all over the place with labels like _KITCHEN_ and _GLASSES – FRAGILE_ in scrawling marker.

He could hear Bucky talking to Megan as he stared at the boxes in the kitchen.

“You wanna lie down with me?”

Megan laughed. “And what? Fool around a bit?”

“Yeah.”

Even when he was barely conscious Bucky still tried to start something with a girl. Steve wondered why he was even slightly surprised.

“No. No, thanks.”

“Okay.”

Megan laughed again. “What, you’re not gonna try and convince me?”

“No,” Bucky said, sounding more serious. “You said no.”

Steve walked in with their water, seeing Megan sitting on the couch with Bucky’s hand on her knee, his eyes closed.

“He’s fine. He’s just drunk,” Megan mumbled, pulling his hand off of her. She took the water Steve handed to her and drank it all in three gulps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Steve placed Bucky’s glass on the floor and they watched him sleep for a couple minutes. Megan turned her head to look at Steve, her face changed.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head.

“What?”

She tugged him by the wrist out of the room and dragged him down the hallway to her room, shutting the door behind them.

“Take off your clothes,” she said.

“What?” he said again, sounding so dumb. He couldn’t help it. He felt a little drunk still. Megan’s eyes were sharp, assessing him.

“You like me, right?” she said, and he nodded. “So, do you wanna have sex with me or not?”

“What?” Steve said, a little sharper. “Meg…”

He laughed, uncomfortable. She moved toward him, her hands resting on his chest. She still stood taller than him by several inches. Her fingers began to work the zipper on Bucky’s jacket, pulling it down.

“I thought you didn’t like boys,” Steve said, and Megan licked her lips.

“I’m willing to bet you’re not like other boys, Steve,” she murmured. “And I haven’t done it with a boy before. Just –”

She didn’t say her stepfather’s name. It was a forbidden word.

“You’re not curious? I know you like me,” she whispered.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Steve said, his voice hushed. He was paranoid Bucky would hear everything, and he still didn’t know about Obi-Wan.

“I’m not. We can do whatever we want,” she murmured, moving even closer, tilting her head.

She kissed him, slow and tentative at first, pulling his top lip between her two lips, her tongue darting out to meet his in the middle.

“Meg –”

Her hand was in his hair and he shivered, opening himself up to her, her tongue sweeping inside. She tasted of vodka and strawberry. It was her chap stick.

Steve lay on his back afterwards, Megan lying on her side and staring down at him under the covers, the moment between them tender, tinged with grief.

“I’m scared.”

“I know,” Megan replied, and she leaned down to kiss him, a small peck. “Was everything okay, though? I didn’t push you?”

“No,” he breathed. “I just thought –”

“You’d be cured?” she finished and he nodded. He was so glad he didn’t have to explain. “It doesn’t work that way, Steve. I still like girls, too.”

He nodded, his eyes stinging. He wasn’t afraid of her seeing him cry, he just didn’t want her to feel bad about the things beyond her control.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

“I know,” she murmured again. “I just wanted to do that with you.”

It was a hand job and not particularly earth-shattering but Steve hadn’t done it before. No girl his age had ever seen him naked before, either. In a way it was a big deal, and yet Megan wasn’t acting any differently. She wasn’t ashamed or overwhelmed like he was.

She dressed, walking out to check on Bucky. She came back with water, going to her desk to unlock it with a key. She pulled out a condom and Steve swallowed hard, staring at it in her hand.

“We don’t have to,” she said.

“I want to,” Steve replied.

The next morning he and Bucky were sitting in the same park, both of them hungover. Bucky put his arm around him and they stared at the sunrise.

“Remember anythin’ from last night?” Bucky rasped, and Steve nodded vaguely.

They watched a couple drag queens walking with their stilettos in their hands and Bucky waved at them for the hell of it and Steve ducked his head, laughing.

“I think I hit on Meg a lot,” Bucky muttered. “Sorry, man.”

“It’s cool,” Steve said. Then a beat. “We had sex.”

Bucky blinked a couple times.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Megan was everything. A confidante. A light, a darkness. Megan taught Steve more about himself than he ever gave her credit for. He still didn’t think the movie did her justice, and the Academy Award nomination was still short of a thanks.

He was glad Darcy was the one to play her in the end, as Cassandra.

Steve thought about her sometimes still when he saw vodka bottles, when he heard The Cure playing. He thought of that mural they did together, and wondered if it was still at their old high school in Brooklyn.

He didn’t see her at the reunion years later. Not many people were able to recall her, they were only interested in hearing about Bucky, the big-shot with the big summer blockbuster coming out, _The Winter Soldier_.

He couldn’t find her when he tried to later on. She wasn’t on any social media. He didn’t know what he’d wanted from her. She was the one who chose to stop writing back. They grew apart. Sometimes he’d think of her and feel empty, like it was missing inside him, that part of her he’d kept.

He just hoped she was okay.


	8. Part Eight: Navy Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, it's been... *glances at calendar*... anyway. I'm still working on this. Thank you for stopping by, my babes, my ride-or-dies.

_They judge me like a picture book_  
_By the colors, like they forgot to read_  
\- "Brooklyn Baby" by Lana Del Rey

**Part Eight: Navy Blue**

As the plane touched down, Steve’s eyes fell to the male flight attendant that sat beside his female counterpart at the front of the plane.

For such an expensive flight, the way everything shook violently in first class really put everything back into perspective. Though Steve had his own little booth with navy blue walls to cut him off from the plebs that embarked after he did in JFK, he wasn’t immune to the turbulence when they made their descent.

He was sure he’d be caught for staring too long soon enough, so he glanced out the window as the plane came to a stop, the wind roaring. He was glad no-one decided to clap for their safe landing. He wasn’t in the mood for any of that.

RKB contacted his agent Hope, asking for a real sit-down meeting. Since Darcy’s TV interview, the interest in the _Winter Soldier_ prequel skyrocketed. Countless articles were being posted online, and Steve’s Twitter was a constant barrage of the reminder that he needed to either take the money and do the job or let it die. Either way, he was stressed out, because if he decided to sign with RKB like he was planning to, he’d be _signing with RKB_. He’d worked on _Brooklyn Baby_ with one of its subsidiaries, Anya Media, but that was different. That was an indie movie, with a measly few million as its budget. The stakes were somewhat lower than one of the biggest cultural icons in the last ten years. Writing a prequel meant pushing aside his ego and possibly all his creativity, too. He wasn’t about to forget what they put Bucky through over the _Time Shell_ sequel.

He’d visited Bucky and Darcy only yesterday, more or less confronting Darcy for what she’d pulled him into. At the time, she shrugged a shoulder and laughed, little baby Nats on her hip.

“I’ve just made you the most bankable screenwriter in Hollywood for the next six months, you’re welcome. That’ll keep your lights on.”

She knew it wasn’t about the money, and as the night went on and the three of them sat together in the living room with Nats playing on her activity mat on the floor, it was becoming clearer that Darcy felt guilty for putting his name out there.

Just not guilty enough to give another name.

“Think about it,” she said. “Just think about it.”

He hadn’t _stopped_ thinking about it. Only the flight attendant with his smooth-looking bronze skin and high cheekbones and wavy black hair really brought him out of his thoughts for the last few hours as he walked up and down to aisles, serving each asshole in first class, including Steve.

He thought of Sam then, who had tried to give him a friend’s phone number, a gallery owner in Greenwich Village with a Betty Boop tattoo. She was cute, from what the investigation Steve did on Instagram showed, but she wasn’t sparking much interest in him.

He stood up, waiting for the right time to exit the plane. A past _Bachelorette_ contestant wearing way too much cologne for such a cramped space cut Steve off as he shot past his seat. Steve’s brows shot up and he glanced away, only to make eye contact with the flight attendant he’d been staring at earlier.

“Mister Rogers?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve muttered, stepping into the aisle with his carry-on, pushing his cap further down on his head. He could feel he was blushing as he quickly moved toward the front of the plane to exit.

The flight attendant’s badge was clearly on display and Steve nodded to him as he smiled back. They were about the same height, and his eyelashes were _really_ long.

“Thank you for flying with us,” he murmured. “And have a lovely day. Hope to see you again.”

“Yeah, thanks, uh, Brendan,” Steve replied, and he walked out and down the ramp into LAX.

He closed his eyes when he was out of sight, shaking his head a little. He needed to get a grip.

-

The RKB offices reminded Steve of the only time he was at a spa. Everything was white and the music playing in the lobby was tranquil to the point of being creepy. It seemed to fit, like the soundtrack told anyone upon arrival that something sinister was likely going on behind the glass doorways behind the receptionist desks.

“Mister Stevens?” came a voice, and Steve glanced toward a woman that appeared.

She was blonde, tall and wore a sharp suit. Her veneers flashed at him as she offered her hand.

“I’m Julia. Do I call you Joseph, or -?”

“You can call me Steve,” he said. “I don’t tend to go by my pen name when I’m talking.”

“Well, _Steve_ ,” Julia said. “I have several people waiting in our conference room, eager to say hello. Whaddaya say we get in there?”

Steve tried to smile, feeling his stomach twist.

“Yeah, let’s.”

He followed her through the main doors and down a hallway. Everyone they walked past wore sharp designer suits, and he noticed the red bottoms on Julia’s shoes as she walked briskly ahead of him. He took off his hat and smoothed his hair back, opening the water the receptionist gave him when he signed in. At least everything was air-conditioned.

When he walked into the conference room, he knew then that he should have brought Hope along with him. He was dressed in his good pair of slacks but wore sneakers and a black t-shirt. He looked like an overgrown frat boy while everyone else looked like the cast of _Wall Street_.

“Mister Stevens,” one of the execs said, all three of them getting up to shake his hand.

“Steve,” he replied, nodding and shaking each hand.

The long glass table they sat at was the largest of its kind Steve had ever seen. Anya Media liked to meet in stuffy little offices in Queens, not in what looked like the war room in _Dr. Strangelove_. Steve settled in his chair on the side closest to the door, while the three execs returned to theirs against the wall of windows opposite him.

“Steve, we’ve been planning for this for quite some time,” said the first exec, who seemed around sixty or so years old.

Julia hovered, and he waved her off dismissively. Once she left them alone, Steve felt an immediate shift in his mood. Women calmed him, and without any of them in the room, he wasn’t sure how this would go.

He knew their names. Kennedy was the one speaking. Then there was Allen and Burbaker. All three men had inherited RKB from their fathers or an uncle. They were Old Money, in fact Burbaker was related to several former Presidents and owned an NFL team.

None of them had an ounce of artistic integrity to their name.

“And once there were rumors started, we thought, hey – let’s talk,” Kennedy went on.

He gave a little grin, touching the table with several of his long fingers for emphasis.

“We admire your work. My grandkids got me onto some of the comics. He tells me I’m old and don’t know shit about shit, but I know what’s marketable probably better than he ever will, and shit – you’re it.”

“Absolutely,” said Allen, the bespectacled, grey-haired Italian in the middle. His eyes were slightly yellow and his lips were thin and puckered. “ _Winter Soldier_ needs young blood. And we’re so proud of _Brooklyn Baby_.”

“Let’s speak plainly,” Kennedy said, tapping the table again. “What do you want if you’re in this project?”

“This isn’t hypothetical anymore?” Steve said, and all three men burst out laughing.

It was the kind of false laughter Steve heard a lot of when he went to the Oscars luncheon with Bucky and Strange during the _Brooklyn Baby_ circuit. He hated it, but he knew it meant whatever asshole thing he said would be met with humor, not hostility.

“Did you enjoy the flight?” Kennedy asked. “We hoped the service was impeccable, we really should be bragging about those planes we got, since we bought the airline, Tom –”

He meant Burbaker, who nodded.

“And the cruises, we need to get more people on our cruises…”

“Steve,” Allen cut in. “We hope to continue this type of relationship. A professional but friendly one that treasures the creative process.”

What a crock of shit. They were laying it on thick, since they knew Steve had a personal relationship with Bucky. They’d sent him a case of champagne as well, not that he’d looked at it very long. He thought about giving it to Wanda or Darcy, since as a beer man he had no intention of drinking it.

“We wanna offer you 2.2 million,” Burbaker said.

Steve glanced at him. He’d been paid around 50 thousand for _Brooklyn Baby_ , less than a fraction of what he made when he got an advance from his publishers.

It was the most money he’d ever have from one job.

“Tom, don’t give the kid a heart attack,” Kennedy said with a hearty chuckle, putting up a hand. “Give him a second to breathe in the fumes.”

“How does that figure sound, son?” Burbaker said. He sounded like he smoked cigars daily, his voice roughened by time or tobacco or both. “Or that similar bench mark?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, deciding to be honest. “It doesn’t matter much to me.”

“Well, good for you,” Kennedy said, which led Steve to believe he felt the opposite. “I like when someone your age isn’t making it about the figure on the check. You wanna make a good movie.”

“I meant that I don’t know, since I’d rather have complete creative control,” Steve said.

The men fell silent, Kennedy’s eyes swinging between the three of them. For several seconds, nothing was said, until Kennedy let out a long, low chuckle, the most genuine-sounding thing Steve had heard from the entirety of RKB.

“Well, shit.”

“He’s _good_.”

“He’s one of the best,” Allen amended. “Did any of your wives watch that movie with you? Because she’s been on my back about it ever since.”

Kennedy frowned, smiling. “I don’t think that’s the market we’re after –”

“Everyone’s gonna see this movie, Craig,” Allen cut in. “ _Everyone_. At least once.”

They all turned their gazes to Steve.

“Give us a couple days.”

Steve nodded, then realized he was free to go.

-

He signed the contract three days later back in New York with Hope beside him in her office.

He let out a long breath after he pushed the papers back toward her, capping the pen she’d handed him. He departed the office ten minutes later, and stared at the people walking by on the sidewalk through his sunglasses.

It was more money than he could fathom. He thought of Bucky then and his reckless spending Judith always criticized him for. Steve hadn’t understood until just now how strange it was to know he had that much to his name, when he came from nothing. It felt wrong almost. Like it could be taken away pretty easily, too.

He took the subway home, getting off a little early to walk home as people were leaving work. The summer night would stretch on and on, and it matched the dreaminess he felt as he moved through the city.

He got a couple texts from Bucky. The news had reached him. Within twelve hours, the rest of the world would know the prequel was officially in development.

-

Two weeks later, Steve and Bucky took a private jet to LAX. By that point, despite hating the idea of using a private jet instead of an ordinary plane, Steve was so over flying that he didn’t care. He’d had several colds over the last few months because of the all the air travel. He felt as though he was constantly on the verge of getting sick with a perpetual scratchiness to his throat.

The convention was in less than three hours, and they were both in good spirits, if a bit nervous. The anticipation had been building since the Oscars before last, when Bucky was asked about it on the red carpet while pregnant, radiant Darcy was being interviewed close by.

Bucky kept drawing on cigarettes at the hotel when they showered and got ready together, with Wanda meeting them in the lobby as Julia from RKB stood beside her.

“Are we ready? Great,” she said, before anyone had a chance to argue.

Bucky swapped his cigarettes for a Juul that resembled Strange’s own e-cigarettes he favored, a little device similar in shape to a USB drive. Steve could sense how nervous he was, especially when he jiggled his knee in the car on their drive over to the convention center.

Getting to the panel itself was its own separate journey, with superfans trying to crowd them as they made their way into the building via a back entrance, security pulling them safely inside among the screaming spectators. They were handed passes, Bucky holding his with his phone while Steve put his on – he wasn’t dumb enough to assume anyone knew his face without prompting, unlike the Oscar-winner that walked next to him.

“You good?” he asked, and Bucky nodded, smiling.

“We’re pretty far from Brooklyn, huh?”

Steve smacked him on the back a couple times, both of them laughing. The situation was ridiculous. They were about to announce the biggest blockbuster of the decade and they didn’t have a director or a script.

The main hall they occupied literally vibrated with cheering and applause as they both walked on-stage holding their microphones, a sea of hands and smiling faces greeted them. The stage itself was only occupied by the two of them, and it felt so much smaller compared to the space in front of them. Roughly 1,300 people had held their breath, waiting for Bucky to show his face.

“Hey,” he said into his mic, eyes meeting Steve’s as they walked to their two armchairs. “Holy shit.”

He turned a little, glancing at the stage manager.

“I can curse, right? Fuck, yeah, I can curse. What’s up, Los Angeles?”

Steve rose a hand to wave, hearing a group among the larger crowd cheer for him.

“This is my oldest friend, Joseph G. Stevens,” Bucky said, gesturing toward Steve. “Everyone clap for this motherfucker. Come on. Louder. Loud –”

He cut himself off, giggling as Steve shook his head at him. They both finally sat down, Steve’s eyes moving toward the ceiling for a few seconds as the moment sunk in.

“What’s up, buddy?” he said finally. “Holy shit, indeed.”

Bucky crossed one leg over his knee and began to swing his leg, making a face.

He made sure the mic picked up the sound of him sighing loudly and the crowd erupted in overlapping laughter.

“Right, so.”

“Why are we here?” Steve said, and Bucky shrugged.

“Yeah, why are we sitting on this panel, again?” he said, and he glanced toward the crowd, squinting. “You guys know there’s other panels on, professional panels about writing and publishing, some artists out there?”

“We got told this is the most attended panel at this convention,” Steve said, his brows hiking. “So that is… interesting. An interesting choice.”

“Actual experts are in the next hall, but you chose us?” Bucky said, making another face. “Okay. I mean, St- _Joseph_ here is writing something. And then you’ve got me, a wizened smoker.”

He took a pull on his Juul, shrugging, blowing out his nostrils as more laughter filled the hall. His eyes met Steve’s and they smiled at one another.

 _“What the fuck?”_ Bucky mouthed.

Steve remembered that Bucky had never been to a convention before, despite playing the Winter Soldier. He’d avoided crowds for years, but told Steve recently that he wanted to give something back for the people who supported him and ‘paid for all his shit for years’.

“You look like you’ve been gaining some weight,” Steve said into the mic.

“Your hand hurtin’, buddy?” Bucky countered, pointing at Steve. “You been scratching down some ideas on paper or somethin’?”

“Are we… _working_ on something?” Steve said.

“Let’s cut the shit. _Winter Soldier_ ’s comin’ back.”

The response was somehow more immense than their entrance. Bucky began to laugh, shaking his head as the hall was full of excited screams and cheers.

Bucky passed a hand over his face self-consciously, going pink. He took another drag of his Juul and turned his attention back to the crowd. Most if not all of the attendees were standing as they cheered, so Steve got up, too, clapping.

“Oscar winner James Barnes is coming back as the Winter Soldier,” he said. “You gonna stand up or not?”

Bucky scrubbed his face and obliged.

“Everyone sit down. That’s enough. Or you’ll all be getting detention,” he muttered into his mic. “I mean it, I’ll make ya write lines. I’ll make ya go to the _Time Shell 2_ panel this afternoon –”

Steve burst out laughing, thinking of Wanda backstage hearing the joke Bucky made and how her heart would be in her throat.

“That was a joke,” Bucky said, somewhat sheepish, while the crowd was gasping and laughing in surprise at his cheekiness. “I… I have nothing else to add on that. Hey, who’s this guy, by the way?”

He pointed at the enlarged video feed of himself on the screen behind them. He put on a voice as he laughed with Steve, pretending to scratch his chin in deep thought.

_“I don’t remember the Winter Soldier talking this much in the last movie.”_

Steve snorted. “You’re not sayin’ a word in this prequel. We can’t trust you.”

“Apparently not,” Bucky said, turning back toward the crowd. “Holy shit.”

Steve glanced at the stage manager that was mouthing ‘Q&A’ to them, and Bucky let out a loud:

“Oh, right – the fuckin’ questions! It’s a _panel_.”

“It’s a panel, yeah,” Steve said. “Where’s the – the line for the -? Right.”

The questions asked were mostly answerable by Steve only, since he hadn’t even begun to write the script, he only had some ideas he was drawing from that were part of the original movie. He felt as if he was pulling a lot of responses out of his ass.

Bucky finally had an answer for a question, which was related to Stephen Strange.

“I haven’t spoken to Stephen in… a while. He’s in Mexico, probably livin’ off a steady diet of mezcal worms,” he murmured into the mic. He cleared his throat. “In all honesty, I have no idea when the rest of the American crime trilogy will be done.”

“Will Darcy be in the next one?” the fan prompted, and the entire hall seemed to coo at the way Bucky burst into a smile at the mention of her.

“Uh, she can’t _not_ be in ‘em, that’s for sure,” he said. “Stephen’s not gonna make a movie without her. But…”

“Any other questions about the _Winter Soldier_?” Steve asked, and he pointed to the next kid in line. “I’m getting told I got one more to do.”

The crowd groaned and Bucky joined in, making Steve shoot him a look across the stage.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I have a mic. Boo,” he said. “But for real, one more question. I know I’m signin’ posters and doing the meet n’ greet in an hour.”

The kid at the mic with the final question said hello and smiled.

“Hey, I know you,” Bucky said suddenly, and the girl went bright red.

“I know you, too,” she said. “I met you at a party.”

Bucky got up from his seat, gesturing to her. “Come up here. C’mere.”

The hall cheered as the girl wandered up to the steps to the stage, almost tripping in the process, when she reached Bucky and he hugged her, murmuring something in her ear.

He began to talk into the mic.

“I met you back at a signin’ for Joseph G. Stevens’ book _Brooklyn Baby_ , holy shit,” he said. “That was before _Death of a Marriage_ came out.”

Steve would never forget that night. It was the same night that Bucky told him he had borderline personality disorder, and he was shaking like a leaf the entire event. He’d been staying in Brooklyn with Judith after he’d gone to Cannes.

“Wow,” Steve said into his mic. “What’s your question -?”

“Jessica,” the girl said.

“Jessica, what’s your question?” Steve asked, as Bucky put his arm around her and she began to laugh nervously.

“Is the _Winter Soldier_ prequel going to have any romance?” Jessica asked into Bucky’s mic.

Steve pressed his lips together, glancing at the crowd for optimal effect.

“I mean…”

“I think that’s a yes,” Bucky said, and the crowd was screaming. “Alright, alright. I meant that about detention.”

The stage manager was signalling again to wrap it up, and Bucky pulled Jessica into a hug and kissed her on the cheek and she walked off the stage with a little wave to them both.

“That’s our panel, thank you for having us,” Steve said, and Bucky remained standing as Steve stood up, their hands in the air.

They both bowed and the hall was shaking with applause again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Jessica was in Part Fifteen of Death of a Marriage.)
> 
> I love you like crazy, thank you so much for reading! ❤
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	9. Part Nine: Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this universe and I love my baby bi Steve

_I move mountains on my own, don't need nobody's help_  
_I've been lookin' after me like only I can watch my back_  
_Lovin' me and it keeps hurtin' me_  
_I hate it when I lose control over my heart_  
\- "SUGAR (Remix)" by BROCKHAMPTON, Dua Lipa

**Part Nine: Gray**

Steve was wrecked.

He knew the makeup lady had her work cut out for her. In between dusting his face lightly with powder, she was fixing his hair with some product and her deft, long fingers. Maybe it was the lack of human interaction lately, but it was really nice to feel like this random middle-aged woman was looking after him, even if it was just her job.

He’d barely managed a few lines of the script. He told Hope the situation was slow, and she hadn’t thought it was a dire situation yet. He hadn’t been this way creatively in years. He always kept working, even when it wasn’t really work. He’d doodle on napkins in cafes with friends. He wrote a sonnet about Zero’s paws last year and it was still on some notepad on his messy desk.

There was so much riding on this script that his brain decided to shut down. The expectations of millions of movie-goers. Billions of dollars were hoping to be made. Bucky’s career could be seriously affected. Every time Steve tried to approach it all, it sounded like someone else possessed him, and it never stuck. Indent, space, indent – fuck that. He couldn’t even try when he was on planes anymore, either.

Whenever a friend asked about it, he gave a vague answer about the research going well. He had read a lot of comics and watched several movies, to try and investigate exactly what was going to inspire him, but then it just turned into him admiring what he was reading and watching too much, and then he felt as if he was truly out of his depth.

The _Winter Soldier_ was legendary. Steve had no business writing a prequel. His claim to fame was a story he didn’t have to come up with himself, and half of it wasn’t even based on his life, but someone else’s.

He was forcing his friendliness that morning, and he knew Wanda could feel that when she decided to come along to the _Variety_ shoot. She was visiting Bucky and Darcy and Steve hadn’t seen her since the convention a few weeks ago. She was watching from her spot by the wall, her phone out as she typed away, the crew still adjusting lighting and other settings as the makeup lady took a step back to consult with another woman holding a swatch of different colors. Steve didn’t understand a lot of what was going on, but he knew the fact that he hadn’t slept well last night was a problem.

He hoped he didn’t look strange because they decided to Photoshop any semblance of pores away post photoshoot. Bucky looking like someone else entirely on movie posters he saw on the subway was always a disturbing experience.

Steve was left on the black stool, with the gray background behind him. It made him think of a school picture, and those were never good. He remembered his mom Sarah always hated when a new black eye or a split lip showed up instead of what he was supposed to look like – a pretty decent kid, just small for his age.

Wanda was staring at him, worrying her lip as he fought the urge to rub his eyes. He frowned at her and she glanced back down at her phone, typing some more. An assistant came in to ask if Steve wanted anything to drink, and he asked for the largest coffee she could find, sending her off again. Next, everyone in the room seemed to straighten up as a Latin-looking man wandered in wearing thick black sunglasses, pushing them off as he approached Steve.

“Eric, hi,” he said.

Steve blinked at the man in front of him.

He had curly black hair he tucked behind his ears, and his eyes seemed to bore into Steve as he shook his hand, smiling at him. His beard had patches of gray and Steve’s eyes couldn’t settle on one thing as he stared back at him. There was so much his body was responding to.

“S-Steve, I’m Steve,” he babbled, and Eric laughed.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m late. Hopefully you haven’t been waiting too long,” he said, moving back to assess the camera that was set up in front of Steve.

“Barely,” Steve said, though it had been nearly an hour he’d been fussed over with no sign of the photographer.

His bad mood seemed to melt away as Eric smiled at him, taking off his sunglasses to replace them with a pair of reading glasses, and he pushed his hair out of his face as he frowned a little.

“I’m not feeling this,” he murmured, and the woman with the swatches sighed, turning her gaze to the makeup lady.

“I told you, what did I tell you? You owe me five bucks.”

“It’s not organic,” Eric said with a laugh. He pushed the glasses up to his hair, shrugging. “We’re not shooting a Colgate commercial.”

“Do we have a bingo card for Eric today?” the makeup lady called to the rest of the crew. “Because that’s on it. Either that or ‘Nespresso commercial’…”

“Alright, alright,” Eric muttered.

Steve wasn’t sure where he was meant to look, his eyes settling on his hands in his lap. He sat up a little straighter and Eric met his eye, shaking his head.

“Get up.”

“Okay,” Steve said, standing immediately.

Eric took the camera off the tripod and looked through the view finder, then up at Steve again.

“Just look at me, not the camera.”

“Okay,” Steve said again. He pressed his lips together, unsure of whether to smile or be serious.

Eric moved closer to him, reaching out with his other hand, taking Steve by the wrist. He stood several inches shorter than him, but his confidence seemed to enlarge him to Steve, and his hand wrapped around his bare wrist made him hold his breath, moving wherever he commanded.

He was pulled to the nearby window, and Eric smiled, pleased as he glanced down at the view finder again. He took a picture, Steve’s eyes on his, not the camera.

“Just pretend that you’re having a really good time, okay?” he murmured, and Steve began to laugh.

He flushed, self-conscious.

“Okay.”

Thirty-four and this easily flustered. Christ. He tried to reel it in, hearing the camera shuttered go. Eric looked up again.

“You’re pondering something. Your next check,” he murmured.

“That’s a little mean,” Steve murmured back, and Eric laughed.

“Whatever is on your mind is working, so that’s good,” he said.

Eric took several more photos, and then moved closer to Steve to show some of them, pressing the arrows. Standing this close to him, Steve could smell the scent of his thick hair, and he could admire his Roman nose and long dark lashes.

“See, way better than the chair,” he said, and Steve nodded, eyes darting down to the pictures he was hardly paying attention to.

“You’re really good,” he managed to say, and Eric looked up at him, bursting into a smile.

“Well, that’s humbling.”

He hadn’t met him before, hadn’t ever heard of him, but from that interaction alone, Steve knew he’d made some kind of mistake. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Eric had moved on, walking back toward the crew.

“I think we’re done,” he called, and Steve realized he meant he could leave.

“Okay,” he muttered. _You fucking tool bag._

He joined Wanda, who looked up from her phone, her eyes shifting to Eric. She touched Steve’s arm.

“He was definitely checking you out,” she whispered. She grinned at him, biting her lip to suppress her laugh.

Steve expected she thought it was amusing, watching him be oblivious. He pushed the doubt, the thought that perhaps Eric was just being friendly out of his head when Wanda’s eyes widened slightly for a second, her eyes staring behind Steve’s back.

“He _definitely_ checked you out.”

“Really?” Steve whispered back, doing his best to not react with any semblance of enthusiasm.

Later when they were sitting at a café eating lunch and sipping coffee, Wanda was talking about her latest Bumble disaster date.

“Maybe I should throw in the towel, at least until _Winter Soldier_ ’s done.”

“That’s another year away at least,” Steve said, a little surprised. “And I’ve barely started the script.”

They kept talking about Bucky’s prep already underway, and how he was doing the hard work. Steve remembered the first movie and how he had to gain almost twenty pounds of muscles in seemingly no time at all. Bucky had been so excited, because he got to do so many stunts of his own. Yet he was smoking constantly and Steve couldn’t keep track of which girl he was sleeping with for nine months while he filmed.

Upon saying that to Wanda, he then remembered that production never truly dragged because of the sheer spectacle of it. There was so many facets to the blockbusters Bucky made, so maybe Wanda wouldn’t have time at all to date someone.

“You’re right,” he muttered, taking a sip of his water. “I’ll probably be single, too.”

Wanda let out a little snort and he frowned at her automatically.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You’re not putting yourself out there to begin with. Sam told me about the gallery owner you never called.”

“You and Sam are talking about my dating life?” he muttered. “Since when?”

“I…” Wanda began, and she rolled her eyes, glancing out the window. “I dunno, since I keep going back to him, complaining about dumb shit.”

She let her eyes swing back to his and Steve felt his stomach drop, sensing things were suddenly turning serious again. He hoped she wasn’t about to accuse him of something he wasn’t ready to talk about. He knew he was going to probably jerk off with Eric on his mind and how it felt to be touched by a man that beautiful.

“All the guys I meet are all sort of the same,” she said. “They’re all the same type of person, all they all remind me of each other, and it doesn’t matter to me whether I meld with any of them.”

“Okay,” Steve said.

“They all kind of remind me of Pietro,” she said.

The mention of her dead brother fell heavy between them and Wanda took a deep breath and let it go.

“Except you,” she added.

Steve listened to the other tables chatting away around them, the soft piano music playing over the speakers above them. He looked at Wanda again, swallowing.

“Wanda.”

“I know,” she said. “I know you don’t have feelings for me. I just wanted to put it out there, one last time. Because I just wanted you to know.”

She gave a little smile, looking miserable.

“And now I know for sure –”

“Wanda, I do love you,” Steve said, reaching out to touch her hand that held her fork. “But I don’t see you that way. I don’t want to force it, or lie to you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I know you wouldn’t do that. You’re a good man. God…”

She sounded tired. Steve let go of her, pushing aside his plate. It was hard when someone made him feel safe and happy but he couldn’t push the puzzle pieces together. Something always felt like it was missing.

He thought of telling her, telling her everything. How he’d known he was attracted to men since he was a teenager but never acted on it. She already knew about Peggy, after all.

“Do you want to hear something completely fucking stupid?” he asked, the silence between them breaking.

Wanda nodded. “What?”

“I’m going to London next week. I looked up Peggy.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “ _Steve._ Really?”

He nodded.

He hadn’t seen Peggy in fifteen years.

-

Steve got into Tisch. He had backups but they weren’t necessary in the end. He knew he had a realistic chance of getting in, but he couldn’t quite believe he’d got a scholarship for such a place.

High school for the last two years were crappy to say the least. Ever since Megan left, the emptiness that followed was more obvious. Steve knew it wasn’t solely related to Megan, but more likely a culmination of his growing grief for his mom.

He hadn’t processed it well, and having another person leave his life in an almost permanent capacity made him lonelier than ever.

Tisch meant a new start. He was going to get a Bachelor of Fine Arts. He’d be in a new place, with new people. He’d do what he loved every day, which was create art, and he wasn’t going to be bullied for it.

There was rift between him and Bucky. They shared a room but lived worlds apart emotionally. Steve still saw him every day, but Bucky was moving in his own way, destructively and without pausing much to think. It drove Judith nuts, and then she was resigned to it, that her son was always misbehaving. He wasn’t turning in homework. He was failing classes. He was being threatened with summer school if he meant to graduate with everyone else next year.

Bucky stunned everyone with his 1480 SAT score. Steve knew he was smart, that didn’t surprise him, but the fact that he was able to ace it without even applying himself seemed to infuriate the teachers who knew, and the guidance counsellor that begged for Bucky to re-engage with his education.

“You could go to NYU with me,” Steve said one night, as Bucky made a rare appearance at the dinner table instead of disappearing after school like he usually did.

He’d come home with eyes almost black from dilation, but Steve could see he was sober as he shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth and frowned back at him while he chewed.

“Why would I do that?” he muttered. “I’d go to Julliard if I was goin’ to school.”

Steve knew he had no intention of applying there, so he wasn’t surprised like Judith was when she suggested it, only for Bucky to roll his eyes at her in return.

“So what’s the plan?” she said, smacking his arm. “You’re just hoping to get discovered in the street? Are you gonna do an off-off-Broadway show and everything will fall into place?”

“I didn’t say that,” Bucky snapped, bristling as Judith laugh at the absurdity of it.

He got up from the table then with a clatter of his cutlery and Steve didn’t see him until the next afternoon, his jacket reeking of bourbon and cigarettes. He wished there was something, anything he could do to anchor Bucky to the present. Sometimes he caught him staring at walls and he knew he was thinking about something dark by how resigned he seemed to be.

Bucky came to Steve with his plan in the first semester senior year. He was going to drop out and moved to California. He smiled as he told Steve, like it was the solution to everything, and Steve wondered if he was high.

He was sitting at his desk between their two beds in their bedroom as Bucky sat on his bed, their knees bumping.

“You’re seventeen,” Steve said. “You’re not even an _adult_ –”

“I can look after myself,” Bucky said, shrugging. “I’ve been doing that for a while…”

Steve thought of Judith having some kind of stroke if she heard about any of this. He tried to think of a way to stop him without pushing him further away.

“Stay with me. We’ll get a place somewhere closer to Tisch and you can do theatre,” he said eventually. “We can eat ramen and stay up as long as we want –”

He was saying all this like it wasn’t something Bucky already did. He knew he kept odd hours. Steve felt like a pathetic little kid more than ever, by the way that Bucky shook his head.

“Stevie, I wanna make _movies_ , I don’t wanna stay here. Not anymore,” he said, his voice quiet.

Steve had seen every play Bucky had been in. Even the one he did over the summer that barely got off the ground at the community center. Bucky was a natural, and he knew if he got the chance to show other people his talent he’d excel.

“But California?” Steve said, his stomach twisting. “It’s so far away.”

“Hannah said she’s got a cousin out there. I can stay on their couch while I get settled.”

Steve passed a hand over his face. It didn’t sound like much of a plan.

He witnessed the worst fight between Judith and Bucky later that night. She’d responded far worse than Steve, telling Bucky several hard truths.

“Those people out there all got lucky. Even if they were talented right down to their toenails, James Barnes, they were still lucky.”

“I can do it, why don’t you have any faith in me, Ma?” he yelled back.

Steve knew he’d tried to keep it respectful, sitting her down on the couch. Steve was sitting on the carpet with his textbook across his lap, his guts churning as things quickly dissolved.

“Let’s see. The fighting. The bad grades. The girls,” she said, saying each point on a finger. “The smoking. The booze. The drugs.”

Bucky glanced away, shaking his head. “This is different. You don’t wanna even _try_ to listen to me…”

“Why should I?!” Judith screamed. “You don’t listen to me! I’m just your stupid ol’ Ma, with nothin’ to show for it. You’re ashamed of me, so you pretend I don’t exist!”

Steve knew with adult hindsight that this wasn’t the case with Bucky. He’d been ashamed of himself, the guilt eating away at him for years. He probably blamed himself somehow for the fact that his father died in front of him, though it was impossible. He was the one to call 911 when he was eight years-old.

Bucky’s eyes glazed over, and he said nothing as Judith ranted. She was crying with frustration, finally grabbing him to shake him back to reality.

“Listen to me –”

“What? I’m gone already. I packed my shit. I’m getting a bus ticket. You can’t stop me.”

“You’re a minor, I’m your mother.”

“I’m NOT A CHILD!” Bucky roared, ripping himself away from her, standing over her.

Steve got up from his seat but Bucky was determined to keep yelling.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you’re talkin’ to?” he sneered.

“Buck,” Steve said, reaching to touch his arm.

“Don’t-”

Steve was shoved away and Bucky stalked out. Steve followed him out to his room, watching him dive under his bed to retrieve his backpack.

“Buck,” Steve said again, feeling weak. “Sleep on it first, wait for her to calm down.”

“No, I wanna leave now. It’s better if she’s angry, then I won’t be manipulated…”

It was like Bucky was talking to himself, he seemed to vibrate with rage, wiping fiercely at his face without sniffling. He threw his jacket on and picked up his bag.

“I’ll call ya.”

“Buck,” Steve croaked, and he felt hot tears rise in his eyes.

Bucky avoided his gaze, but Steve reached out for him, grabbing his arm hard enough for him to finally look his way, halfway out the bedroom.

“Stevie…”

He pulled him into a tight hug. Steve impulsively kissed his cheek, wishing he would stay, wishing at least that he could convince him to stay long enough for him to be used to the idea of Bucky leaving.

Bucky left a minute later, the front door slamming.

-

In the last year of high school, Steve put on weight and then grew almost a foot before graduation, and over the summer he began to work out at a gym near Judith’s place.

It no longer felt like Bucky’s bedroom. Steve missed him constantly, but he eventually stopped seeing him by accident on strangers’ faces in the city.

He made more friends. He moved into student housing. He had a lot of female friends, had a couple girlfriends. Bucky booked commercials and surfed couches. Steve didn’t see him at all, not during the holidays, not when there were study breaks. Bucky spoke to him weekly on the phone, but he knew they weren’t the same.

He loved him. He loved Bucky more than anyone else, but he knew he wasn’t going to open up to him and come racing back. Bucky was doing what he had to, following his dream thousands of miles away, while Steve lived his.

He signed up for the exchange program spontaneously, after Bucky booked a TV show and called him about it. Steve thought his art could benefit from some life experience.

It was advertised as something far more glamorous than what it turned out to be. Steve got a passport, hating the photo within, and arrived in London on a wet August day.

The sky was bleak and gray and he loved it. He loved how different it was to the sweltering humidity of his un-air-conditioned dorm in New York.

Coming from NYU with a handful of other students, he knew he stuck out from the people that lived in University College, especially when he arrived at the dorms with his heavy Brooklyn accent.

The advisor was a senior student, a pimply twenty-one year-old named Paddy with a thick Irish accent Steve had trouble understanding, but he showed Steve around the tiny corridors, pointing out the ‘loo’ and mentioned the ‘pub’ across the street everyone frequented.

“Welcome, at any rate,” Paddy finished, smacking Steve’s shoulder. “Christ, you’re built like a bloody Ken doll.”

Steve wasn’t used to the attention of anyone after he filled out. For years, he didn’t see what others did. He would do a double-take in photos, unaware that he was larger than so many men he knew. He felt his ears get hot when Paddy said this, and he ducked his head.

“Thanks, I guess…”

“Your room,” Paddy went on, the moment forgotten.

He walked him up some steep steps that seemed too small for actual human feet, Paddy explaining that they were built when people were a lot smaller. Then he mentioned Charlie Chaplin for some reason, but Steve had stopped paying attention when they reached the top of the stairs.

A girl with shoulder length wavy brown hair, red lips and bright eyes was moving toward them.

“Peg!” Paddy said.

“Alright? Who’s this?” she said.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve said offering a hand.

She smirked, taking it to shake. “We were warned a colonial was coming. I’m Peggy Carter.”

She was wearing a denim skirt and a man’s striped shirt, and Steve spotted a writer’s groove on her finger as she brushed a piece of hair out of her face. She glanced at Paddy.

“Pub?”

“Later,” Paddy replied, and she nodded.

“Well, it’s your shout,” she murmured. She turned her attention to Steve. “Lovely to meet you.”

Steve stared after her and Paddy smirked.

“Leave it. She’s already got a fella.”

Steve tried to not visibly deflate at this new information, his eyes falling to Peggy’s rear as she dashed down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For thirst references, Eric resembles Oscar Isaac and I named him Eric because of Prince Eric lmao
> 
> And I promise Wanda will eventually be okay
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	10. Part Ten: Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ow ow ow ow sorry sorry SORRY fuck

_Don't get any big ideas_  
_They're not gonna happen_  
\- "Nude" by Radiohead

**Part Ten: Purple**

Steve knew he was in love with Peggy at first sight.

It was the worst timing. He was meant to be in London for only a few weeks, and if what Paddy said was right, she had a boyfriend already. It didn’t stop Steve’s stomach from flipping every time he realized she was nearby. She seemed to constantly be on the move, even in the middle of the night.

The first night he was there, he drank at the bar across the street with a group of other students, all of them asking about Steve. He wasn’t used to the attention, and it was like when he first started going to Tisch, when the other kids didn’t know who he was or where he came from. They didn’t know him when he was a skinny little guy with a chip on his shoulder.

Peggy hung around, sipping a pint of beer and joking around. Steve was so drawn to her, especially when she started asking him about politics.

“It almost didn’t happen, me coming over here,” he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the noise.

He was referring to the London bombings, and Peggy nodded at him, her lips pressed together in a grim line.

“I was visiting my parents. They didn’t want me to come back,” she replied. She pulled back a little, frowning. “You’re a native to New York?”

Steve nodded. “Brooklyn.”

“So you were there, when the World Trade Center was attacked?” she asked, and he nodded again. “Christ, I can’t imagine. That was scary enough to watch from a distance…”

“My friend left the city a few months after it happened, her mom was afraid,” Steve said, and Peggy picked up her beer to take a sip. “But, y’know, we got through it.”

“It’s harder for us to keep a British stiff upper lip,” she admitted. She glanced at his empty glass. “You want another? Paddy’s supposed to be treating everyone, since I did day before yesterday…”

She liked to drink, liked to laugh. She liked to yell over the music her opinions, and smiled at Steve several times. It seemed enough to hold him over, until morning, and then he was listening out for her without trying to.

Apparently, Steve had arrived in the middle of a heatwave, not that he could tell. He saw students tuckered out around the block of apartments he was staying in, all of them bemoaning the weather. It was finally sunny and they were boiling alive. Steve was fine. He’d spent many summers without air conditioners in Brooklyn, so he wasn’t distracted like everyone else seemed to be.

Peggy wore dresses and shorts with halter tops. Steve tried not to openly stare when he saw her walking by his room. It didn’t help that his desk was parallel to his open doorway, instead of facing the window, away from the view of visitors and residents. On Steve’s second day there, Peggy wore a pair of distressed denim shorts, sandals and a Green Day t-shirt. She rose a hand to wave at him on her way down the hallway, throwing him a smile like it was no big deal, and Steve felt himself instantly redden.

His eyes fell to her ass as she walked on, her hips swinging. Her legs nearly killed him, too. She had the cutest little ankles, and her muscles filled her out perfectly. She wasn’t skinny. There was a feminine command to her presence, like she would take charge naturally and efficiently. He saw a marks on the back of her thighs – honest to God cellulite – and he longed to kiss her there, to see the rest of her bare skin.

He bit his lip and turned back to his drawing finally, sighing.

For the first time in a few months, he had a nightmare. It was vivid, drawing on memories of Sarah in her hospital bed, looking bony with paper skin and tubes coming out of her. Steve could smell the antiseptic smell of the ward, and he woke covered in sweat, eyes darting around his room, his mind putting the pieces quickly back together as he remembered where he was.

He hadn’t seen a counsellor about his mom for over a year. One of his girlfriends at Tisch urged him to go, even sat in the waiting room as he attended three whole appointments, but Steve spent a lot of his time trying to convince the man sitting across from him that he was perfectly fine, he just had bad dreams.

He knew he wasn’t lying exactly, but he knew he could do better, but he kept busy instead, and he broke up with that girl, anyway.

He sat up, wondering what time it was. He couldn’t hear much life outside his window. Since it was the middle of the week and the only people staying in the apartments were only staying there because they had intense summer programs to complete, the partying only happened on Thursday nights and into the weekend.

He left his room, pulling on his shirt as he wandered down the hall and into the large kitchen. He squinted at the clock, seeing it was after 3AM. He sat down at the large table in the middle of the room, the stoves and counters surrounding it, and thought about making himself something to drink.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Peggy walked in, barefoot and cheery, looking distracted. She stopped at the sink, her eyes falling to his.

“Steve, you’re up,” she said, and he nodded. She was filling a kettle and put it back in its holder, switching it on. “I was gonna make tea.”

“Yeah, I’ll have one, thanks,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He was too tired to try and put on an act, and he sensed her eyes on him. She busied herself with two mugs, fishing out teabags from the Tupperware container next to the kettle before pouring the hot water into each mug.

“Do you like it weak, strong…?” she asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Steve said.

Peggy gave a little smile. “I’ll make it how I like it.”

He allowed himself to watch her as she got out a little milk to pour into the tea, then she added two teaspoons of sugar to each mug, stirring quickly.

“Strong and sweet,” she murmured, plunking a mug in front of him. “I always have two sugars. Three maybe if I’ve had a really long day…”

She blew on her tea, taking a sip. Steve copied her, their eyes meeting.

“It’s good,” he said, putting the tea down. “But I have no frame of reference.”

“Last American that stayed here said I had no business making him a cup of coffee,” she said, smirking a little. “Which I suppose is probably true…”

“Little rude,” Steve said.

“Yes, I thought so,” she murmured. “But he got his, in the end. Head in the toilet the next night after I made sure he knew I had business keeping up with him with a bottle of Jack.”

Steve snorted and Peggy grinned. They lapsed into silence and Peggy put her feet up on the chair next to hers, sipping her mug in silence. Steve picked his mug up again, taking a deep breath.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Oh,” Peggy said. “I thought it might be the heat.”

Steve shook his head ruefully. “I wish.”

Peggy blinked at him, reading his face. She leaned forward a little.

“Steve, are you alright?”

He cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s just… my ma. She’s dead.”

“Oh, Steve,” Peggy said, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “I’m so sorry. That must be awful.”

“I think I’m just gettin’… burnt out,” he muttered. He glanced up from their hands. “I’m fine, really.”

He pulled his hand away from her, hoping it didn’t show on his face how much he needed that soft touch.

“Why are you up?” he asked, sipping more of his tea.

“I finally got the right sentence out,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Of course, it happened while I was trying to sleep, so I grabbed my notepad. Then I wrote for two hours.”

“Wow,” Steve said. “What was -?”

“Essay on naïve art, which is a little condescending, I feel,” she said, frowning. “And that’s the point I’ve been trying to get across, that art doesn’t have to come from someone who is educated for it to be worthy. There is so much to cover, but I think I’m getting there. Slowly but surely.”

She gave a little smile. Steve loved that she was studying something they could talk about with ease – art history – so he didn’t have to try at all to talk to her. It came so naturally.

“Tell you what,” she said, tipping back her mug. “I’ll take you to the British Museum tomorrow, after class. When do you finish?”

Steve’s lips parted in surprise, and he took a second to recall his schedule. “Uh, two, I think.”

“Two o’clock, easy-peasy,” Peggy said, smiling at him. “And it’ll be nice and cool inside. I’ll get to show you all the crap my people have stolen over the centuries.”

Steve laughed, loving the way her eyes sparkled.

-

Zero didn’t seem pleased by Steve’s packing. As he sat watching him on his bed, he’d occasionally grab a pair of socks and begin batting them across the blankets. Steve snatched them back, their eyes meeting.

“Hey, hey – those are mine,” he said. “Where’s your mouse?”

He got up, looking around for one of Zero’s toys, tossing it his way when he found the little mouse with a missing eye, its fur chewed almost completely off.

He sat back down on his bed, looking over at his suitcase and hating what he saw. It meant more weeks away, more plane rides, up being down and so forth. He didn’t know why he was even bothering to pack his laptop when not a single shred of inspiration had come in days. He had no desire to write, and he kept putting off telling Hope just how bad it was.

He watched Zero, kicking the mouse between his paws, gnawing on an ear, his eyes wild. He wished he could come with him and not stay with Darcy and Bucky again.

He’d given up on Stephen replying to any of his emails or texts. He didn’t think anything bad had happened to him, but he wasn’t going to hold his breath. He wished he had the guts to do that himself, walk into the desert and not come back until he was done with whatever he needed to work through. A cynical part of him thought maybe he’d never show up again if he copied Stephen.

He took out his phone, thinking of him, and began to type another text:

_I’m going to England this week_

He sent it off, eyes moving back to his open suitcase.

He kept to himself on the plane over, trying his best to watch a movie but zoning out a lot of the time. He couldn’t shake the restlessness, since he knew he was closer to Peggy than he had been in over ten years. He’d told Wanda that he’d looked her up, when in reality, he’d been doing that every year since 2005.

Back then, she had a MySpace account. Then came Facebook, and then she more or less dropped off the Internet for a few years, until Steve noticed she followed him on Twitter. Her profile said she’d published a couple books on art history, a universally-praised biography on Frida Kahlo and another book on English women painters two years previously. He hadn’t reached out to her, not until he was certain he was coming to England after the convention with Bucky, when he saw a photograph of her with her daughter sitting on her lap as they did a watercolour together at a kitchen table.

He didn’t see a wedding ring. He tried to not think about that, since he was only going to be there a few days, and in all likelihood she’d be too busy to come see him.

He opened up Twitter when he was alone in his hotel room, after he checked in with Hope to tell her he’d arrived safely. He didn’t think he’d get a lot of sleep before the book signing tomorrow, but thankfully it wasn’t first thing in the morning.

Without searching for her, he saw Peggy had shared an article a few minutes ago. In the years he’d followed her back, they’d never messaged one another.

He went to her profile and opened a message, beginning to type.

_Hi, I’m in town this week_

-

The days were blending during his stay in London. He was learning about art and the world, he senses were overwhelmed and he loved it, he loved being caught up in it all.

Peggy was infectious, encouraging him to come out of his shell, showing him the sights and watching his face react to every new thing. She was the perfect host, and it was so easy to fall more in love with her every day, despite knowing better.

Her boyfriend’s name was Douglas, and he was from Edinburgh. Steve didn’t meet him, since he was back home for the summer while Peggy stayed on. Of course he envied him and wanted to find things about him to secretly make fun of him for – but by all accounts, he seemed a perfect match for Peggy. Without meaning to, Steve saw a picture of them together on the board above her desk. The people in the background were blurred as Peggy’s cheek was kissed, her arms elongated to get Douglas in the shot.

How it all ended, Steve wasn’t proud of any of that, but he knew it wasn’t just him at fault. Maybe he should have cared more about it. Maybe Sarah would tell him that he should have respected the boundaries of friendship, and yet… Steve knew his mom would have told him to follow his heart, since it was her entire life’s philosophy.

It was two days out from his departure from London and Steve was drinking in the bar across the street with the rest of his floor. He knew he’d overdone it, but he’d been disappointed that Peggy was a no-show, and then it was made clear that she’d avoided the get-together by studying in her room. A female friend of hers whispered to Steve that she and Douglas were taking a break, and Steve couldn’t stop his heart from leaping.

It might be his only chance. He did his best not to react too obviously, though he knew the beer had impaired him, and he excused himself from the group ten minutes later, unable to keep waiting. He raced up to their floor and couldn’t think of what to do or say to give him an excuse to talk to Peggy.

Then it was so obvious. He rose a hand to knock on her door and heard her call out to come in. He drew in a breath to fortify himself and opened the door, his eyes falling to Peggy as she sat at her desk, wearing mauve wrap-dress and no shoes, her knees drawn up.

“Hey. I want, um, tea?” he asked, and her eyes snapped to his, realizing who it was.

“Oh. Sure, I’ll come,” she said.

She got up, following him out and they walked down the hallway.

“Didn’t see you before,” he said, as he got out the mugs from the cabinet.

He’d learned where everything was, moving with more fluency than even a few days ago, remembering to get the sugar from the little covered bowl in the cupboard.

“I didn’t feel like going to the pub,” she muttered. “Had a row with Doug on the phone…”

A part of Steve felt like a scumbag for liking to hear her say it out loud, instead of it being second-hand information whispered in his ear. He wasn’t facing her as he replied:

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s… so stupid,” she added. “Sometimes I wonder…”

She trailed off, and Steve turned around, holding the teaspoon he’d used to stir the tea.

“You wonder what?”

She swallowed, looking glum as Steve placed the mug of tea in front of her.

“Wonder how it got this way,” she muttered. “He may as well be on another bloody _planet_ , it’s like we can’t ever be in the same place at once.”

Steve knew that feeling all too well, instantly thinking of Bucky. He’d managed to get through to him a couple times on the phone, but the conversation had been fleeting whenever he tried to ask him about how he was going. It wasn’t until years later that Steve understood how ill Bucky was.

When he finally visited him a few months after he finished his Bachelors, they were at a party of a producer friend celebrating Bucky’s first starring role, and Steve was pretty sure Bucky was doing whatever was passed his way, powder, pills or otherwise – and then he’d leaned in close to Steve with a grin on his face, covered in sweat, and said “I’m fucking _miserable_.”

As Peggy sat opposite him at the table, he nodded.

“Yeah. I know what that’s like,” he said. Their eyes met and he saw she had so much more to say by the look on her face. “I don’t wanna go back.”

“I don’t want you to go back, either,” she admitted, her voice husky.

Steve supposed it would have been harder to leave her if he’d slept with her. He couldn’t deny he’d wanted her, but in the end they only held each other in her bed, talking all night. He fell asleep fully-clothed, waking alone, realizing Peggy had gone to class.

He decided it would be unfair to tell her how he felt. He was pretty sure she knew, but he wasn’t going to pressure her by telling her he was in love.

The morning he was meant to leave, his stomach felt like lead and he dreaded saying goodbye. He almost didn’t, until she caught him in the street about to take the cab back to the airport.

She’d raced down, barefoot and breathless, grabbing hold of his arm as he stood with the cab door open.

“Paddy said you were leaving now,” she panted, and he nodded, feeling his jaw clench.

“Yeah, I’m gone,” he said.

Peggy opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Then he leaned down and kissed her, her hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat.

“Bye,” she breathed.

Her eyes were full of tears, and she waved as they cab left the curb. Steve’s eyes stung as he tried to smile, waving to her until she was out of sight.

-

“Steve.”

He’d rung her doorbell, feeling nauseous with nerves. He’d clung to that bouquet of flowers, listening out for sounds of life inside.

It felt like a dream, Peggy opening the door, staring back up at him. Her saying his name out loud seemed to cement everything, and she smiled at him like she used to.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, and she moved to hug him tight, Steve’s hand going to touch her lower back, his chin tucked into her shoulder.

She drew back, her hands cradling his face.

“We’re old now,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You look the same.”

“You are a wonderful liar,” she said, and her eyes fell to the flowers. “Oh, are they for me? Steve, you shouldn’t have…”

She had the same face, the same mannerisms. She was only slightly slower, her movements more measured as she took the bouquet of white roses and smelled them. She had smile lines, and lines on her forehead, but her skin was flawless, her red lipstick the same shade, too. Her long purple dress was covered in daisies, cinched at the waist and flaring out over her hips, covering her stockinged legs.

Steve had spontaneously shaved his beard off that morning. He hoped he wouldn’t regret it, but he could see he definitely wasn’t the same man as before. It wasn’t as if he’d taken off years of his life, in fact, he was pretty sure it aged him to show more of his face.

Peggy’s townhouse was wedged between two others on the street in a semi-wealthy area of London Steve wasn’t too familiar with. From what he knew about Peggy, she hadn’t struggled after leaving school, unlike himself.

“Come meet Emma, she’s dying to meet you,” Peggy said, and Steve followed her down the hallway.

The house seemed as old as his apartment, but it was redone recently, smelling vaguely of fresh paint, and Steve saw a small trail of ivy painted in one corner. Peggy flashed a little smile, seeming self-conscious.

“Little project.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, but she shook her head, shushing him.

They walked into the living room and Steve’s eyes fell to a little girl sitting on a bean bag, her long dark hair in braids down her back, her head whipping toward them.

“Emma, darling, this is Steve. Mummy went to university with him,” she said, and Emma was up from her seat. “We saw him on the telly, remember?”

Steve glanced at Peggy and then realized she meant the Oscars. He’d been in the audience when he was nominated for _Brooklyn Baby_ alongside Stephen, and it was one of the few awards the film didn’t win.

“Nice to meet you,” Emma said, offering her hand.

It made Steve laugh and he took it, shaking her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he replied.

He followed Peggy into the kitchen, watching her fill a vase with water to place the roses in, and he glanced away toward the fridge, seeing a drawing Emma must have done.

“I’m getting better at horses,” Emma said, coming up beside him, pointing at her work proudly. “I need to work on…”

She looked over at her mother, unsure.

“Shapes and proportion,” Peggy said, and Emma repeated her words.

“It’s great,” Steve said, and Emma beamed.

“Emma.”

“Oh!” she said, realizing what Peggy meant with the look she gave her. “Would you like a drink, Steve?”

“Yes, please,” he said. “I haven’t had a decent tea in maybe fifteen years.”

He looked over at Peggy as he said it and she smiled at him, ducking her gaze to the vase as she separated the roses. Satisfied, she leaned against the bench with Steve.

Emma made tea for him and he took it with a grateful smile, lifting it to sip as Emma dashed back out to the living room. Left alone with Peggy, he didn’t know where to begin.

“How’s… how’s life?” he asked, and Peggy chuckled.

“God, it’s not as interesting as yours, I’m sure,” she said.

She took her time, steadily unfolding the story as Steve listened and drank his tea, the sounds of the TV in the background. It was mid-afternoon and Steve had seen kids playing in the street outside when he arrived. It would feel just right, to live in this part of town.

Peggy had spent most of her life studying and writing, traveling to different parts of the world to expand her understanding of the things she loved to write about, and then got married when she found out she was pregnant with Emma eight years ago.

Steve told her about himself, the version he was comfortable with her knowing. He told her about how hectic and insane the last two years had been especially, with his growing success in Hollywood and beyond.

“I saw that Facebook Live event you did yesterday,” she said, sounding in awe. “Absolutely packed.”

“Wish you could’ve been there,” he said, the words slipping out.

“Yeah, me too,” she said. There was a beat, and she looked away. “Is there – I mean, are you married, what’s happened?”

“No, not married,” he said. He didn’t know why that embarrassed him. It’s not that he didn’t _want_ to get married. “Never have been.”

“Don’t do it,” Peggy said, chuckling. She sounded like she was joking, but there wasn’t quite enough warmth in it for Steve to be convinced.

“Bad?”

“Well, me and Doug…”

“Right,” he said.

“He’s been living with a friend on the other side of the city, and it’s a pain getting Emma to school from his place, but he’s trying,” Peggy said. “God, you don’t need to hear any of that.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve said. Their eyes met. “Not from you, I promise.”

He wanted to kiss her, to hold her close and tell her everything, how he never really got over her, how every other woman had to measure up to her. How his mom would be proud to have her as his wife. He finally looked away.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” she asked, her words sounding sudden.

He looked at her again, seeing her somewhat shy expression.

“Yeah.”

It played out just like a dream, too, when they went to get fish and chips from the little place down the street, Emma darting in to pick it up, and the three of them walked back to the house, the sun set long ago.

They ate in front of the TV, Steve and Peggy on the couch as Emma sat on the floor.

“Mum, can we watch _The Winter Soldier_?” she asked, and Peggy made eye contact with Steve.

“I don’t know, darling. I think you need an early night, and Steve’s probably knackered…”

Emma pouted, going quiet, but Peggy rolled her eyes, sighing extravagantly and Steve chuckled.

“Alright. Some of it, but you need to have a bath and go to bed in an hour,” she said, and Emma began to jump up and down, dashing to get the DVD from the stack on the shelf.

Steve’s eyes fell to a group of books he saw above the DVDs, feeling his stomach flip when he realized he was looking at his own penname.

Emma caught him looking and grinned at him, pointing as she pressed the eject button on the DVD player.

“Mum has _all_ your books,” she said.

Peggy had her wine glass at her lips and Steve’s eyes swung to meet hers.

“She does?”

“Yep,” Emma said, a little smug.

He stared at Peggy for several seconds, maintaining eye contact as Emma was oblivious, loading the DVD.

They watched the first half of the movie in relative silence, until Peggy checked the time on her watch and gave a little gasp.

“Emma, bedtime, darling…”

Emma made a loud groan, but Peggy wasn’t folding.

“Alright,” she muttered, conceding.

She got up from her seat, dragging her feet as she began to walk out.

“I’ll be up in five minutes to say goodnight,” Peggy said. “Say goodbye to Steve, too.”

Emma perked up, turning toward Steve and raising her little arms for a hug.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he murmured, and she broke away with a broad smile, before walking out, her feet thundering up the stairs.

Peggy glanced at him.

“Do you want me to turn it off?” she whispered, and Steve widened his eyes slightly.

“Yes, please.”

She obliged, turning it over to a news channel. A couple minutes later, she was up from her seat and disappeared upstairs. Steve could hear her opening and shutting doors, before she returned to his side with a sigh.

“Do you really have every book?” Steve asked.

She reached for him, patting his hand between them on the couch, a friendly enough gesture.

“ _Of course_ ,” she said. “I loved everything you ever drew. You only got better.”

“I haven’t read your stuff,” Steve admitted, and she burst out laughing. “I… didn’t think I could get away with lying about it.”

“Probably not,” she whispered. “You’re too lovely that way, Steve.”

His eyes fell to her lips and he glanced away, feeling a stirring in his guts. She was still touching him. He swallowed, thinking of every chance he didn’t take with other people, and how he’d been keeping himself guarded for so long.

He turned back to her, taking hold of her hand, threading their fingers together.

“Peg,” he whispered.

He let go of her hand, instead reaching for her, his hand cupping her jaw as he moved toward her. His heart was in his throat as he closed in on her, tilting his head to slant his mouth over hers, not unlike the only other time they’d ever kissed.

She kissed him back with a soft sigh, their eyes closing. The glide of it and how her mouth opened up lit a fire in his guts, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

He thought of taking her upstairs to her bedroom, laying her on her mattress and kissing her everywhere, knowing her completely. He thought of not going back to Brooklyn, staying in merry old England with Peggy and Emma. He could write and still travel. He could do this, with her.

Then Peggy’s hand came down on his thigh and she broke it off.

“Steve.”

His heart sank in a devastating way, as he’d feared it to years ago if he’d told her he was in love.

“We better not,” she whispered.

He didn’t let go of her, he wanted her to rip herself away, push him if she had to. He didn’t want to be noble anymore.

“I love you.”

“Steve,” she said, and she sounded as if he’d hurt her. “We can’t. I… I have a life with Doug, and we’re trying to work through this. We always work it out, and I don’t want to… I can’t…”

“Then tell me to go,” Steve said, and he could hear his voice was beginning to wobble. “Tell me to leave and I will.”

“We’re not kids, Steve,” Peggy breathed. “I can’t… I can’t bargain my whole life, _Emma’s_ life, on three weeks with you fifteen year ago.”

“You can,” Steve heard himself say.

“I can’t,” she said.

He dropped his hand to his side, moving back. He stared at the TV, seeing a woman in front of 10 Downing Street, but none of her words were registering. He was only listening to how Peggy moved beside him, her hand running through her hair.

“I’m not going to drop everything for you,” she said eventually.

“I know,” he whispered.

He left a few minutes later. He must have, because he was back at the hotel room, and everything was aching. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even wishing Douglas wasn’t around, because he knew he’d made Peggy happy, and he was Emma’s father. He wanted Emma to have a loving family, unbroken by tragedy or divorce. He wanted her to have the childhood he didn’t have.

He ran to the bathroom and threw up. He emerged sometime later, his ears ringing, feeling wrung out. He glanced over at his suitcase, contemplating getting dressed for bed, but he was weighed down on the bed, and even moving his body at all felt like too much to ask for.

He’d never felt lonelier in his whole life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	11. Part Eleven: Teal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw!

_Well it's been building up inside of me  
For oh I don't know how long  
I don't know why  
But I keep thinking  
Something's bound to go wrong  
 **-**_ **"Don't Worry Baby" by The Beach Boys**

**Part Eleven: Teal**

_“Hey, Steve. I hope you’re doing well. I know you’re in L.A. this week so I wanted to catch up, maybe grab some dinner. There’s a little sushi place I think you’ll like, so text me when you can…”_

Steve had switched on his phone after he got off the plane, wandered through LAX and managed to get an Uber. He was running on only a couple hours of sleep, and watching people hugging each other was too much. He wasn’t able to think about much except for how his stomach twisted in anguish, his chest aching.

_“This is Wanda, by the way. I mean, you’ll know it’s me. Okay, bye.”_

Normally, he’d smile at Wanda’s awkwardness on the phone. She still wasn’t any better at it after being a full-fledged Hollywood agent for a few years. He knew she preferred speaking in person, but he didn’t know if he could build himself up enough to follow through with seeing her while he was staying in L.A.

He’d managed to leave London fast enough, coming back to California for a couple meetings with RKB and a surprise book-signing he was doing tomorrow. He kept rubbing his eyes, not talking to his driver. The traffic, soul-sucking as always, meant Steve was staring out the window waiting and waiting to be alone again while he worried his lip and scowled at no-one in particular.

At the RKB meetings, he lied about progress, but at least he didn’t have to face the execs that afternoon. He was given a woman with glasses named Patsy as his creative consultant, who was asking about specifics for actors involved.

“In terms of plot, are there specifics for the look of the Soldier or any other characters?” she asked, her pen poised.

Steve had thought about this, he just hadn’t written anything down in weeks. He had often thought about having flashbacks and using obvious distinguishing timelines, but he knew there wasn’t anything he had to limit Bucky with.

“Standard Soldier costume, I guess,” he said. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, pretending to cross something off a list on his iPad when he was actually sketching Patsy. She had a distinct nose, obviously the one she was born with, which was rare in this part of town.

“Excellent. And have you been given a list of the possible directors you’d be working with?” she asked, brows raising. “Exciting, secret stuff.”

It was part of the NDA he’d signed to not discuss these production details with anyone until RKB gave him the green light, not even with Bucky, which he’d violated already last week when Bucky had complained about the lack of variety in the rumoured line-up.

“We were thinking either Adrian Toomes, Darren Cross or Sonny Burch,” Patsy said, smiling.

“No women?” Steve said. “And no European or Asian directors?”

He knew the point of having smaller directors coming onto a massive project like this one meant the studio had more control over how the film was made. Steve wasn’t about to let the manipulation go unnoticed, and he was sure he’d already have a reputation for being demanding.

“I mean that they have the time to consider other options,” Steve added, feeling the atmosphere of Patsy’s office already changing.

She turned slightly and clicked open something on her laptop he couldn’t see from his seat and he stared at her hands as she began to type.

He put his iPad aside and waited for her to stop, the silence tense.

“Just finishing up my email, please continue,” she said, glancing up from her keyboard to flash a little smile.

“It’s fine,” he said, though it obviously wasn’t, and he glanced behind him toward the door. “You know that when they hired me, James was still undecided about it all.”

“Yes, we’re aware that you’re close,” Patsy replied, and she stopped typing, clicking something off before she folded her hands together. “We know this is a unique opportunity, to have you both in the same production. Mister Barnes is exceptionally talented –”

“He was being sued for a hundred million dollars at one point, you know I know that, right?” Steve cut in.

Patsy let out a soft half-laugh. “Yes, but the past is the past.”

“I’m suggesting we don’t hire whoever’s already on the books. I’m not being unreasonable,” Steve went on, and he lifted a finger to point at her laptop. “And you don’t need to be emailing the guys above you about me being a demanding little asshole.”

 _Stevie, your Irish is rising_ , he heard Sarah say, her hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, putting up both hands. “I guess I left my manners back on the plane. I know you’re just doing your job. It’s not up to me who’s chosen, anyway.”

The rest of the meeting was clunky and Steve didn’t feel any stirring to write when he left Patsy’s office. He was quite certain Hope would be calling him about how badly it all went, so he kept avoiding looking at his phone for the rest of the day and long into the night.

-

The following morning, he had to drag himself out of bed, wishing his beard would grow faster. Every time he looked in the mirror, he was reminded of what he’d done, and he thought of Peggy all over again. He liked to think the longer he spent back in his home country the less it would hurt, but it was a lingering kind of pain he never thought he’d feel again.

He thought about Sarah more than ever, and how she’d probably tell him he’d changed, and not just because he was no longer a weedy little kid covered in scrapes and bruises.

Hope FaceTimed him when he was sipping coffee and replying to some Tweets on his laptop, and he picked it up, seeing her smile at him.

“Hi. You ready to pass out now or what?”

“I dunno,” he said, smiling wryly.

It was his last book-related commitment for a while. For the foreseeable future, he was meant to be writing the script and bouncing back and forth from L.A. to New York. It was mid-September and he had until January to finish his first draft.

“If I send you something, will you take it or try to send it back?”

“Depends what it is,” he replied. “If it’s alcoholic, I’ll keep it –”

“What about edibles?”

He knew she was half-joking, but the idea of eating a cookie laced with something stronger was starting to appeal to him, especially because he was getting stress headaches in the middle of the night.

“Maybe,” he murmured. “I need to get ready. Can I call you after I’m done?”

“Sure. Smile and wave. And then get back on the horse again.”

Steve let out a chuckle, closing his eyes, and he sighed.

“Yeah…”

He knew she was only joking. He was the one constantly asking her to set up more and more and more crap to do to fill the weeks.

“Flannel always works wonders on you,” she added.

He used to dress like ‘absolute shit’ when he first signed with Hope, so her advice was usually appreciated.

“Thanks, Hope,” he said, and then he hung up, rubbing his eyes.

-

For an event that was organized in only a couple of days, the bookstore was packed, and the line was out the door waiting to come in. Steve was no fool – he knew Bucky had everything to do with the hype of the last several weeks. It was better than the humiliation of no-one turning up, even though he got a lot of questions about Bucky.

“He doesn’t live in L.A. anymore,” Steve said, signing a girl’s book as she leaned in to ask him where James Barnes was. “Sorry, it’s just me.”

She didn’t seem altogether disappointed, but neither did Steve think she’d actually read anything he’d written or illustrated. The people began to blend over the next couple of hours, and he could feel himself checking out emotionally. It was easy to do on so little sleep, and he was thankful that at least he was busy enough to keep his feelings at bay.

He couldn’t see himself moving much from the couch or his bed when he returned to Brooklyn, since he’d only have his thoughts to occupy him. He barely looked up when he was handed a hardcover copy of one of his earliest books to sign, as he took the Post-It off to check the name.

 _Megan_.

He looked up, sure he’d see someone he’d compare his childhood friend to, someone completely different, but then his eyes were widening at the person who stared back down at him.

“Hey, Steve,” she said, her mouth pulling into a slow smile.

No-one referred to him by his real name in these scenarios unless they were some old acquaintance. Occasionally, someone would turn up claiming to be an old friend of his mother’s or someone from high school, and usually it wasn’t someone that memorable.

It was Megan, more than a decade older, her hair the same cut and color, black and in a blunt bob. Except now she was wearing a tank top, her arms covered in tattoos, with a couple lip piercings and a ring in one eyebrow.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, and he was up from his chair, pulling her into a hug.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he heard her whisper.

“Holy shit,” he said again, pulling back. He glanced behind her, aware of the long line of other people still waiting for their books to be signed. “I…”

“We’ll talk after? I’ll wait for you?”

He agreed to come find her at a café down the street. He was so distracted for the rest of the event, but he felt himself be buoyed by the promise of seeing Megan – real, _alive_ Megan – so he smiled more in the photos, and hoped he came across as appreciative.

He found her in a booth and slipped into the seat opposite her, pushing the hair off his forehead as he struggled to find words that sufficed just how incredible it was to see her again.

“It’s been…”

“Forever,” she said, nodding and smiling. “Yeah. How are you?”

“Do you live around here?” Steve said, and she laughed and nodded.

It blew his mind that she could have been wandering around the same places as him and he’d never known.

“I own a studio downtown with my partner,” she murmured. “We moved out here ten years ago. I asked you how you were, Steve.”

“I’m- I’m fine, I’m just trying to figure out how you’re here, and I’m here, too,” he said, starting to laugh. He glanced around and made eye-contact with a waiter. “You want a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah.”

They sat and drank coffee, and every so often Steve would smile at her, so happy she was still there. It wasn’t some apparition, she was solid and smiling back at him.

“I saw Bucky once at a party,” she said, and Steve’s brows hiked. “He didn’t recognise me. I don’t think he could even see straight…”

Steve nodded, hoping nothing worse had happened.

“He asked me for my number, of course,” she said. “I gave it to him.”

“Seriously?” Steve said, and she laughed and nodded. “I never heard about this.”

“I wrote it on a napkin and he never called me. Probably didn’t help that he fell into the pool with this model he was making out with…”

Steve ducked his head, snorting. “Yeah, he’s… well, he’s married now.”

“I know,” Megan replied. “I mean, how could I not know that? It’s bizarre, knowing that you know half of the most famous couple in the world.”

She went quiet, picking up her cup again to take a sip.

“You said your partner,” Steve said, and she nodded. “You married?”

Megan made a face. “She doesn’t want to get married, and I don’t either, so… it works out. It’s just us, and the dogs.”

She took out her phone from her pocket, unlocking it to show Steve her background. He began to laugh, seeing the woman Megan’s arm was around.

“You’re like those two girls from _Adventure Time_ ,” he murmured.

“You mean… the princess and the vampire girl?” Megan asked, and she taking her phone back, smirking. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty accurate. Two opposite ends of the lesbian scale.”

“What’s her name?”

“Abby,” Megan said, smiling. “Except her hair’s more blonde these days than pink.”

“I have a cat,” Steve said, when she showed him a picture of her two dogs, twin black Labs named Bart and Lisa. “I mean, it’s not my cat, but I’ve been keeping it at my apartment and Bucky’s for over a year…”

Megan blinked.

“He’s, uh, Stephen Strange’s cat,” he muttered, feeling weird for saying the name out loud. “His name’s Zero.”

He showed her a picture of Zero sitting on his chest with his eyes half-shut and Megan burst out laughing.

“I thought he was going to be some fancy cat, with you name-dropping like that,” she muttered, and Steve rolled his eyes.

“I don’t _drop_ names –”

“No, you just cradle them to your chest,” Megan teased, and Steve unexpectedly thought of all people Eric the photographer _Variety_ used.

Thinking of that encounter again made his stomach flutter and he was briefly distracted as Megan kept looking at more pictures on his phone. She looked up after a minute of silence.

“Hey, you okay?”

“How come you stopped writing me?” he asked, before he could convince himself not to.

Megan’s lips parted and she let out a breath, looking out the window. She pressed her lips together, watching the lights change.

“I know I should have given an explanation, but… I thought I was doing the right thing at the time,” she said, her voice different.

She sounded more like the old version of her that was nearly always sad. Her eyes met Steve’s.

“You came on kind of strong after a while, and I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

Steve stared at her for several seconds, and then he put his face in his hands.

“Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she murmured, reaching over to touch his arm. “But I’m gay. I was gay then, too. I didn’t want you thinking you should wait for me –”

“It’s fine, I get that,” Steve muttered, and he gave a little groan. “Sorry, it’s just – Jesus, after the week I had in England, I just… I can’t fucking take it anymore.”

He even laughed a little at the end out of habit, since being this honest made him uncomfortable. His eyes swung to Megan’s and she was frowning at him in confusion.

“There’s this girl – woman – that I met when I was Tisch, I went on this exchange program. I knew her three weeks and…”

His stomach twisted and he sucked in a breath.

“Jesus, she was the love of my life, and she didn’t want me.”

“Oh, Steve,” Megan whispered, and he felt his eyes sting. “I’m so sorry.”

He knew he was a mess if he was talking about this with a friend he hadn’t seen in years. He knew he was so hurt it was pouring out of him with little hesitation, and he knew it was just how things were, and he wasn’t going to force Peggy’s hand, he knew he never would…

Christ, he was just so fucking lonely sometimes, and he hadn’t even realized it until he spent too long keeping still.

“It’s fine,” he said, clearing his throat. He knew he was lying. “She’s been with the same guy for fifteen years, I shoulda…”

He trailed off, his words feeling pathetic and useless. Megan took one of his hands and patted it, giving him one of the kind smiles she used to give him when they were kids.

“Tell me more about Zero.”

They ended up at his hotel, Chinese takeout boxes between them on the bed. Megan told him that Abby was out of town with the dogs visiting her parents that didn’t ‘approve of their lifestyle’, so to avoid the usual conflict Megan had volunteered to stay home.

“Being gay does have its perks,” she mumbled through her mouthful. “I don’t have to pick up dog shit this week.”

Steve snorted, leaning on his elbow, tipping back another beer. He could feel the nerves had left him long ago, and although there were so many gaps to fill between them, he wasn’t afraid to speak to her like he used to.

“How’s Buck really?” she asked, after a pause. “Because it seemed like close call, at one point.”

Steve didn’t know how to answer that. Megan bit her lip self-consciously.

“Fuck, that was blunt,” she said, and Steve shook his head.

“It’s okay, you’re right,” he murmured. “Don’t know really where to begin with that. Probably not my place to say.”

“And you?” Megan asked, and he looked at her again, blinking. “Apart from Peggy?”

Steve felt himself flush. “There’s not much else to say.”

“What?” she blurted. “Why hasn’t anyone snatched up when you look like an Abercrombie model? I mean, I know my taste in men is nil –”

“Alright, alright,” he muttered. “I haven’t got married. I haven’t got a girl. I tried to convince someone to be with me when I hadn’t seen them in fifteen years. Kind of an indication of how my relationships tend to work out…”

He felt Megan staring at him, and he gave her a sidewards glance.

“What?”

“Come on, Steve,” she said, and he frowned.

He didn’t want to think about the space she was living for him to fill in with context. He felt his stomach tense, and he was back in Brooklyn again with Wanda, avoiding as always.

He felt his heartbeat pick up.

“There hasn’t been…?” she began, and he kept perfectly still, making her say it all out loud. “You’ve never dated anyone who isn’t…?”

Her eyes widened slightly with incredulity.

“Steve.”

“What?” he snapped. “You’re asking me if I think about men? You asking if I’ve slept with any of ‘em?”

“Steve, it’s _me_ –”

“I haven’t seen you in years, Meg,” he cut in, sitting up abruptly. “I didn’t even know if you were alive until today. And now you’re telling me that I can be honest with you?”

Megan’s face changed to something colder.

“You spared me from rejection by ghosting me?” he said. “That’s fucked up.”

“You’re right, it was fucked up,” she muttered, eyes darting away. “But I’m not lying to everyone around me anymore. I moved on.”

“My ma died in front of me!” Steve exploded, and he saw her eyes flash with rage.

“And I was raped by my stepfather! Do you want this to be a competition, Steve, is that it? What’s the prize if there’s a winner? The satisfaction of knowing that one of us is more fucked up than the other?”

Steve snapped his mouth shut, eyes falling to the floor.

He found his voice, feeling his guts become knots once more.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said those things.”

He stood from the bed, picking up his empty water glass on the way to fill it at the sink in the little kitchenette in the corner of the room. He sipped from it, putting it down.

It took a long time, maybe a couple minutes, maybe only a few seconds, to speak again.

“I think about men.”

His eyes shifted slowly from the floor, up to Megan’s face, and he tried to anchor himself to her, to be present. His mind was racing with the horrifying possibilities of his future.

“I’ve never – I mean, I’ve never even been close to…”

“It’s okay, Steve,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t know what that says about me, that I tell everyone else that I accept them no matter what, but I’ve been lying since before my ma died.”

Megan nodded. “I understand. More than you probably expect.”

Steve passed a hand over his face, sighing. “And since Peg, I keep thinking I’ve put aside my whole life… for nothing.”

He knew it sounded crazy. He knew it was pathetic and wrong. He’d idealized something that turned out to be completely intangible.

“You wanna go out?” Megan asked, and he frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, we can drink together _legally_ , and we’re in West Hollywood for crying out loud,” she said, getting up from the bed. She came toward him, and pulled him into a hug. “Do I need to spell it out for you? We could otherwise hightail it to San Francisco…”

“Okay, sure,” Steve muttered, his stomach fluttering. “I know what you mean.”

There was another pause and she touched his face.

“What’re you thinking?” he asked her, and she smirked.

“I’m thinking your life as you know it is over, but that’s okay. It means you can start over again.”

-

The club was called Architect, and Steve had never been even close to it before. It helped that he’d only ever been to parties with Hollywood types and not L.A. born and raised folk.

He’d never been to a gay bar and he was certain it showed by how quiet he was, sipping a beer in a booth while Megan introduced him to a circle of her friends, all women. She kept bringing into the conversations she was having, yelling over the loud music, encouraging him.

“Megan said she took your virginity,” one of her friends yelled by his ear, when Megan was up dancing with a couple of her friends.

He felt himself flush. “Uh, yeah. Weird times, the early two-thousands.”

“I bet,” she replied, flashing a smile. “You here to find someone?”

He felt himself nod, rubbing his eye.

“A lot of cute boys are staring at you,” she said, sipping from her straw. “Just don’t make it obvious if you try to catch a glimpse.”

He nodded, and she turned away to talk to another friend, leaving Steve to it. He took out his phone, seeing Wanda had texted him, but he put it away, wanting the delay seeing her. He was a little tipsy, and maybe it was enough to push him into it, knowing he wasn’t fading into the background. He’d shaved again, hoping he didn’t seem like he was pretending to be younger.

He didn’t know what men liked. He knew what he liked, maybe. Again, he thought of Eric with his captivating eyes and long lashes and beard, but there weren’t a lot of men there with facial hair as far as he could tell.

There was a whole lexicon he wasn’t familiar with. He was afraid that when they arrived the bouncer would take one look at him and tell him to leave, since he sat in the middle of it all, loving women and wanting to touch men, too…

He was a mess. Nothing new, but he finally stood up, glancing over at the three other women sitting at their booth.

“Anyone need a refill?” he asked, and they shook their heads.

Now or never, he thought, and he turned around, swallowing as he went over to the bar to order himself another beer.

He kept touching his face self-consciously, and his hair as he waited for his drink. He reached for his wallet when a card appeared in his line of sight, and his eyes snapped up to the face of the man holding it.

He was as tall as Steve, all lean muscle, his eyes blue and his hair a sandy colour. He was pretty, with full lips and bright blue eyes. His cheeks were flushed and he smiled at him.

“I’ll get that.”

“Uh, thanks.”

He tapped his card on the machine the bartender offered and Steve picked up his beer. Steve kept his eyes away from the guy, because it got to be a little too much, aware that this young man was looking at him with unbridled curiosity. There was no doubt in Steve’s mind that he was attracted to him, his hand reaching out for Steve’s.

“I’m Andrew,” he said, and Steve took his hand.

“Steve.”

“You’re new. You move here?”

“I’m visiting,” Steve replied.

Andrew leaned a little closer, eyes traveling up and down Steve, his mouth forming a slow grin.

“You wanna dance?”

“I don’t,” Steve said, and Andrew began to laugh. “I don’t dance.”

“Well, come sit with me, at least.”

He turned away and Steve stared after him, and he was up from his chair, his stomach full of butterflies as he followed Andrew over to a little couch at the other end of the club. Megan’s eyes met his on the way and she seemed happy with his choice to get up and explore.

Steve was pulled between Andrew and another young man with dark hair in a top knot. Andrew’s group of friends were all looking at him every so often, and he seemed to pass whatever test they’d placed in front of him.

“What do you do, Steve?” Andrew said, sipping a vodka tonic with a twist of lemon.

“I’m a writer,” he said, and Andrew’s eyebrows hiked.

“You creative, Steve?”

“I try to be,” he murmured. He shifted in his seat, their knees bumping. “What do you do?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Andrew said with an eye roll.

His neck was mesmerizing to Steve, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. Steve inched a little closer, allowing his eyes to fall to Andrew’s mouth as he spoke.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

“Starbucks,” Andrew said, making a face. “I mean, I’m a barista…”

“Nothing to sniff at,” Steve murmured.

“I _love_ your accent,” cut in one of Andrew’s crew, a boy with black curls and a chest tattoo of a heart peeking out from his open teal shirt.

Andrew made a show of blocking his friend, turning in his seat so he was facing Steve, his hand now resting on his knee.

“You were saying, Steve?”

Steve chuckled, and it was a relief he’d got this far without the Earth opening up and swallowing him whole. It didn’t stop him from feeling the nerves seep into his bones, his whole body giving little shakes every so often like he was cold.

“Nothing to sniff at, being able to make coffee,” he said, staring into Andrew’s eyes until he glanced away. “It’s a useful skill.”

“So is writing,” Andrew said, his hand still on Steve’s leg. “What do you write?”

He liked that this guy had no idea who he was. He thought about someone recognizing him when Megan first suggested they come here, but he’d wanted to try, to feel some relief. Megan put it more bluntly:

“You need to get laid, big time.”

“Books,” he said, and Andrew laughed.

“You’re cute.”

-

Andrew asked him if he wanted to get something to eat, and he simply nodded, following him out of the club. He texted Megan on the way that he was heading out, and Andrew kept glancing back at him, tugging on his jacket as they stepped out into the night.

“What do you feel like?” he asked, and Steve tucked his phone back into his pocket, falling into step beside him.

“I’m not sure.”

“Tell me if I’m talking too much,” Andrew said, and then he groaned. “God, I mean – you know, I get all blabbery and I can’t just shut the fuck up.”

“Okay,” Steve murmured. “It’s not too much.”

“Okay, cool,” Andrew said, and he looked away.

They walked down the street to the traffic lights and Steve pushed the button.

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” Andrew asked, and Steve’s eyes snapped to his.

He thought about confessing he hadn’t done this before. He thought about running away. Steve blinked, swallowing.

“Sure,” he said.

Andrew lit up. “Okay, then. Let’s get an Uber.”

-

Steve’s heart was racing by the time they got up the stairs to Andrew’s apartment, and then he was fitting the keys in the door, talking on and on about how his roommate was one of the other boys at the club, and all these other things about how much he couldn’t wait for him to get his own place. Steve only nodded dumbly, watching the back of Andrew’s neck, longing to touch.

He didn’t have to force himself to hide anymore, he thought. Not here, in this guy’s house, with all the privacy in the world.

Andrew let them in and Steve rose his hands, reaching for him before he’d even shut the door, and then Steve’s hands shot straight back down to his sides once more when Andrew said:

“You wanna do a shot?”

He nodded, following him into the kitchen. The cabinets were a sickly custard colour, and everything was stained.

“God, he’s such a pig,” Andrew muttered. “Whatever.”

He poured them two tequila shots each, picking up one and Steve copied him.

“Cheers.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice thin with nerves. He threw it back without a pause, watching Andrew pick up another one, throwing it back with his eyes squeezed shut.

Steve did the same, everything sharpening as the liquid went down, and then he took a step closer, his hands coming up to take hold of Andrew.

He pulled him close, with all the courage he had, and the silence that followed was deafening. He tilted his head, kissing Andrew hard, and something was tripped in his head –

There it was. And there was Steve, his mouth pressed to another man’s mouth, and he felt himself moving on instinct, his tongue slipping into his mouth. He tasted of the alcohol, the tonic water and the tequila and vodka, and something else – something distinct and male, Steve was certain it was a male-only taste, the same as women tasting a certain way.

He kissed Andrew in the kitchen for several minutes, Andrew’s hands on his waist, and their hips were pressed together, everything so warm and thrilling Steve couldn’t keep still.

“You, uh - ?”

“Fuck me,” Andrew breathed, his mouth red and wet, and Steve a swooping arousal down his stomach to his cock.

They broke apart for Andrew to grab him by the shirt and walk him down the hallway and into his little bedroom. The bed was unmade, there were clothes on the floor, and his scent was amplified in the dirty sheets…

If this was what it was like when Steve kissed a man, what the fuck would the rest of it be like?

Steve devoured him, their hands moving to pull off shirts, and he was pulling Andrew back to him, falling onto the mattress together, their chests pressed together. He wasn’t as hairy as Steve, but undeniably different to other partner’s he’d had before. Steve’s hands ventured further down, slipping over the seat of his jeans and Andrew gasped against his mouth.

He giggled, grinding against Steve’s crotch. It was like magic, watching this man become pliant and willing to let him touch him anywhere. Steve’s hand stayed on Andrew’s ass, and he hissed when Andrew tugged at his lip with his teeth.

Steve wanted to slow down, to savour it, but Andrew was rubbing up against him, growing impatient when Steve kept chasing his lips with his own.

“Come on, you want a rubber?”

Steve nodded, trying to grab hold of him by the back of his neck, but Andrew was pulling away to grab a condom from his nightstand. Without ceremony, he was tugging off his jeans and underwear, and Steve’s eyes fell to his hard-on, out and proud between his legs.

He could smell his musk then and he bit his lip, staring at Andrew, who smiled at him.

“Like what you see?” he murmured, and he was hovering over Steve then, their noses brushing.

“Yeah, y-yeah,” Steve whispered, and he was holding onto Andrew’s bare hips, feeling like his face was on fire.

Andrew then grabbed one of his hands and placed his cock in Steve’s palm. Steve’s mouth went dry, and he stalled for a second before finally obliging, stroking Andrew.

He was all warm velvet, pressing into his hand, groaning and circling his hips, wanting more. He fumbled for the condom, handing it to Steve.

“Come on, I douched. I’m clean.”

It was so much to process that Steve stared at him for a couple seconds, then he nodded.

He stroked Andrew a little faster, to try to steady himself somehow. Andrew huffed, grabbing hold of his chin to look him in the eye.

“Steve, _please_. Are you into begging or something?”

“No,” Steve said. “I’m just warming up.”

Andrew smiled down at him. “Okay…”

Steve tugged off his jeans and underwear, and then Andrew’s hands were reaching down and he felt like all the air had left his body when he sealed his mouth over the tip of his leaking cock, swirling his tongue around.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped.

Andrew swallowed him down and Steve stared at him, so stunned that it was happening at all, and he had to close his eyes to stop himself from losing it all together. Andrew grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of his head, encouraging him, but Steve didn’t dare shove up into him.

“God…”

His eyes shifted down Andrew’s body, his broad, male back and down to his bare ass, and he reached to stroke his flank, hearing the greedy sucks as he tried not to float away…

Andrew pulled back with a pop and a happy sigh, sitting back on his knees.

“Come on…”

Steve nodded, sitting up, and he finally unwrapped the condom, rolling it down as Andrew twisted around to grab a bottle of lube. Steve watched as he lay on his back, drawing his knees up, his hand going down past his balls…

Steve couldn’t believe he was watching this happening so easily in front of him, a man playing with his asshole, testing the waters and then pressing inside expertly with two fingers…

“Steve.”

He nodded, eyes snapping up to Andrew’s face. He was flushed and Steve realized then why tequila would help – doing this stone cold sober, he’d probably rather jump out the window. Andrew was unapologetic, and that was fine, but Steve was so far behind, it was overwhelming.

But he wanted him. He wanted to do this. He had to do it sooner or later. He had to. He just wished he’d done this another way, but he wasn’t sure exactly how.

“Steve,” Andrew prompted again, and Steve snapped out of it, moving toward him, between his thighs.

Steve kissed him to shut him up, but it didn’t stop Andrew from making sounds, his moans loud in Steve’s ear. He wasn’t used to it, a man sounding wanton without shame.

Steve slicked himself up, his chest tight, Andrew’s thighs now wrapped around him.

“Come on…”

His hand on his cock, he rubbed up against Andrew, feeling that tight ring had so little give, and he took a deep breath, beginning to push against it.

“Fuck,” Andrew breathed. “More, more…”

He was so tight and hot Steve dropped his head for a second to gather himself, pushing in a few inches before he finally looked down at Andrew’s face again, seeing his mouth open, his eyes screwed up.

He kept going, bottoming out and going completely still.

“Fuck me…”

Steve’s throat was thick with emotion, and he hated this was how it went the first time. It was his fault, being too afraid to take anything slow.

This was the closest he could ever be with a man but it was a complete stranger, and that’s what hurt the most. That even though he was inside someone else, he was still lonely.

He moved back, then pushed in again, his cock dragging in a sweet spot – at least, it seemed that way, by how Andrew was crying out, along with the soft pats of their bodies hitting together filling Steve’s ears.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me –”

Steve moved faster, one of his hands slipping down to wrap around Andrew again, and he whimpered.

Steve fucked him hard and fast, until Andrew was spilling over his fist, until he was spilling into the condom, his ears ringing with it all, Andrew’s ass still clenching around him, milking him dry.

He was all liquid, his muscles loose and useless, his body covered in sweat… He slumped forward, and then Andrew was pushing up against him, and Steve fell onto his back…

-

He woke the next morning, lying naked under the blankets with Andrew’s back to him. He could feel he was hungover, emotionally rather than physically. His eyes fell to Andrew’s bare skin, and he reached for him, his hand drifting down the plane of his long back.

He wanted to turn him over and kiss him, to have what he wanted, just a fucking kiss…

Andrew came to life, groaning as he picked up his phone from the nightstand.

“Fuck. I have to get to work.”

He barely said goodbye to Steve as he raced around, tugging on his uniform and stopping to fix his hair in the mirror. Steve watched from the bed, feeling older, feeling so fucking tired.

He left a few minutes after Andrew, locking the door behind him.

-

He took the elevator up to the apartment, wearing his old favorite leather jacket because fall had finally arrived in New York, the air bitterly cold when he stepped out of JFK an hour ago.

He’d come straight from the airport for Zero, hoping he’d at least be able to feel a bit better with the cat back in his apartment and not with Darcy and Bucky, though he always loved how much they did for him.

Steve’s eyes fell to Darcy when she answered the door, baby Nats on her hip. She broke into a smile, pulling him close to kiss his cheek, the baby between them.

Steve allowed himself to breathe in the baby smell, treasuring it when Nats looked up at him with recognition in her eyes.

“Uncle Stevie’s here,” Darcy said, bouncing the baby. Her voice changed as their eyes met again. “Bucky’s with Bruno.”

Bruno was his trainer. He was constantly working out to put on the weight for the movie, and Steve found himself thankful that he didn’t need to see Bucky for once.

He knew they needed to speak. He knew he needed to tell him the truth, like he needed to tell Wanda but instead he’d avoided her the entire three days he was in L.A. With Darcy there, he felt himself weaken just the same.

He followed her inside, and Nats was placed on the floor with several of her toys and she kicked and played happily as Steve and Darcy sat down on the couch with mugs of tea.

Zero appeared, chirruping to Steve, and the sound managed to cut him down to his breastbone.

“Steve?”

He felt Darcy’s hand on his arm and he burst into tears. He covered his face with his hands and wept with the abandon he hadn’t known since his mother died, Darcy’s arms wrapped around him as he clung to her for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to sarahbeniel for reminding me Don't Worry Baby exists, it just fits so well with this part
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4bdXFRdxuhkHGriOk5xz?si=zTrIh8OvTb6rKhwpPss8Pw)  
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	12. Part Twelve: Orange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh my God, we're finally here, I'm so fucking happy it's here. Ahhhhh, thank you to the five of you who read this. My heart is full for Steve. ❤ (nsfw)

_I'm tired of wanting more_  
 _I think I'm finally worn_  
 _For you have a way of promising things_  
 _And I've been a forest fire_  
 _I am a forest fire_  
 _And I am the fire and I am the forest_  
 _And I am a witness watching it_  
\- "A Burning Hill" by Mitski

_Whatever happens_  
 _Fetch the bolt cutters_  
 _I've been in here too long_  
\- "Fetch The Bolt Cutters" by Fiona Apple

**Part Twelve: Orange**

Steve’s head lay in Darcy’s lap as she stroked his hair.

When his tears had subsided enough, it all started to come out. He started with the hellish week in London, then how he went back to L.A. and saw Megan… by the time he got to the story about the bar and Andrew, he had closed his eyes to steel himself.

“I went to this gay bar, with Megan. I met a guy.”

She made a humming sound, her nails dragging slowly, assuring him she was still there and listening. He took a moment to find his voice again, and he drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s alright, Steve,” she whispered.

He swallowed.

“I hadn’t even kissed a guy before then, I’m… I’m bisexual.”

He knew that’s what he was, and yet it still felt so strange to say out loud. It was so dramatic. Look out everyone, he comes a guy who can’t make up his damn mind. Steve knew it was his own internalized homophobia doing a number on him, but it was hard to undo. Wouldn’t it be easier to like one over the other? Wouldn’t it mean less to deal with? Less rejection?

He sat up, wiping his face. Zero was being a loaf on the floor beside Nats as she played. Steve sniffed.

“I hated it,” he mumbled, and Darcy’s hand was on his shoulder, rubbing. “It was terrifying.”

He turned his head to meet her eyes and saw her brow was etched with concern.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell Buck.”

Darcy nodded. “Do you want me to?”

Steve really didn’t know how he was meant to tell Bucky. It wasn’t earth-shattering, exactly. It wasn’t a betrayal, and yet it still felt like he’d been lying his whole life to his best friend. He wasn’t afraid of Bucky rejecting him for his sexuality, but he was afraid that he’d treat him differently. He didn’t want anything to change, but he knew it had to for him to feel better.

“What if I’m just a gay writer from now on?” he mumbled.

“No, no, people will talk about your talent.”

“Darcy…”

“I know I sound naïve, but you’re phenomenal,” she said. “And if you’re the guy they have on a panel to make it more diverse, who cares? It’s still _you_. You’re not gonna change.”

Steve didn’t know about that. He could remember growing up in Brooklyn and changing the way he spoke sometimes to avoid sounding too ‘fruity’. He distinctly remembered being told to not cross one leg over the other at an assembly in middle school. He’d tried so hard for years upon years of his life to avoid being called ‘faggot’.

“But even if you do change, in whatever little way,” Darcy said, squeezing his shoulder, “we’ll love you no matter what. No matter what.”

He felt himself smile, a little one. His heart still felt bruised.

He left with Zero a little while later, as Darcy promised to tell Bucky about Steve coming out to her. He tried not to keep up the self-hatred, because he knew Darcy would be better at putting it into words than he ever could.

“Do you think she knew? My mom?” he asked her, and Darcy gave a little smile.

“I don’t know, but she’d love you just as much,” she murmured. “I think when she was sick, she would have hoped you could be happy just the way you were.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice breaking.

She gave him a tight hug goodbye, and he knew then that he really needed Darcy especially – he needed to hear a mom tell him the truth.

“I love you,” she whispered, and he felt her lips brush his cheek. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Love you, too.”

-

A few days later, Steve made it his mission to go out and buy apples. He didn’t know why he wanted to eat apples so much, but he was trying to do whatever he felt like.

Three people knew him, now. Megan, Darcy and Bucky if Darcy was true to her word. He hadn’t heard from Bucky, and he wasn’t going to push him into a conversation about it. He’d see him soon, it was inevitable.

He bought Pink Ladies, six of them, from a grocer a couple blocks away. He hardly ever bought fresh produce, and considered bananas the staple fruit in his apartment. He could afford whatever his heart desired, and they weren’t cheap.

He washed and bit into one with a loud crunch, glancing out the window as Zero lay across his laptop’s keyboard. He knew that trying to push the writing wasn’t going to help his fragile mood. Taking everything day by day meant no planning, the opposite of every writing advice Steve had ever received. He sketched his apple core instead of getting any real work done, and uploaded it to Twitter with the red apple emoji.

He saw then that he’d been tagged in something, and clicked on the notification to find _Variety_ had shared the article with the accompanying photograph for their upcoming issue. Steve stared at the photograph, glad he didn’t look too constipated or serious as usual. His eyes seemed to shine with mirth, and he knew it was to Eric’s credit that he’d turned out that way at all.

Beside his Twitter handle was the username @EHernandez, and Steve felt his stomach flip at the inclusion, and he tapped it with his finger, Eric’s Twitter appearing a second later. His profile picture was of him holding a camera at his chest, staring straight ahead. Steve remembered him posed almost identically in real life when they met.

He saw Eric or whoever ran his Twitter page had retweeted it, adding a black heart beside it with the camera emoji. Steve began to scroll through the rest of his feed, seeing everyday snaps and other campaigns. There were images of perfume ads and pictures of random scenes without context. Everything was so captivating that Steve lost track of time as he gazed at each photograph. He had a series of Polaroids he’d been uploading, and there was one of him kissing a man’s cheek, and Steve felt that stir of desire in his stomach again. Eric’s eyes were closed as he kissed the man beside him, both of them shirtless and standing with the wind and sun in their faces. The other man was around the same size and age as Eric.

Steve decided to Google Eric, feeling himself begin to hope. His Wikipedia page was sparse in the Personal Life section, stating Eric was Venezuelan and married to Jasper Ellis, who was stated to be a gallery owner in SoHo.

 _Hernández is openly gay_ , Steve read. Of course he was married. No part of Steve was bitter about that, it made sense that someone as talented and beautiful as Eric was already taken. As he scrolled back up, he decided to acknowledge him in turn.

_Made me look great, thank you @EHernandez_

He crossed out of Twitter and looked at Zero, and the cat blinked up at him slowly before yawning extravagantly. He began to settle back into a loaf but Steve picked him up, placing him in his lap as he opened a word document.

“I dunno, buddy. Maybe I’ll just…”

He blew a little raspberry and chuckled as Zero stared up at him, unamused.

“Y’know? Got any ideas?”

Zero licked his chops and Steve felt his phone buzz in his pocket, distracting him. He took it out, seeing Eric had already replied to his tweet.

_Made my job so easy, but don’t tell anyone at @Variety_

He tried not to read too heavily into it. He had plenty of those interactions online. Some marriage proposals, a lot of strangers telling him he was the love of their life because of the characters he wrote. He took it all with a grain of salt.

He remembered then that he’d introduced himself as Steve to Eric, not Joseph G. Stevens. He’d blame it on his flustered state at the time. He just hoped it didn’t come across as desperate. It was already embarrassing that Steve hadn’t known about Eric’s career at all.

From what he could find in his Wikipedia article, he had numerous bestselling coffee table books, and he’d been named a lot of celebrities’ favorite photographers.

He rubbed his eyes, putting his phone away, staring down at the daunting, blank word document. He bit his lip.

He began to type, the words painfully slow at first. He needed to treat it as work, push through it, like he pushed through everything.

He took out his phone again and opened Twitter, deciding to be stupid instead of productive. He began to type out a long-winded DM to Eric, only to delete it all and look out the window as he sighed, wondering what the hell he was doing.

_Were you flirting with me?_

No. He backspaced rapidly, gnawing his lip. He tried to think of something clever to say, something that would stick out.

He thought of Peggy, and how this situation mirrored hers. She was married, Eric was married, and Steve was trying to make an impression when he had no business expecting anything in return. He decided on something sincere but not pathetic:

_Sorry for being an ignorant asshole at the shoot, your work is incredible, from what I’ve learned since_

He didn’t have to wait long. Eric replied within a minute, a thrill running through Steve as the message appeared:

_It was refreshing. Congratulations on the movie, I didn’t say it at the time. It’s the only franchise I’d ever liked from that studio._

Steve smirked, beginning to type back:

_I should be writing right now but instead I’m procrastinating._

Eric replied with:

_What’s it going to be about?_

Steve looked down at Zero, then decided to be honest:

_No fucking clue._

He thought of RKB then, yelling at him about NDAs when he was being way too open with someone he shouldn’t trust – someone not tied to the studio – but he didn’t care.

_I know that feeling. I’m trying to come up with the concepts to talk about for my opening. How do we talk about what we’ve created? Why do I have to explain myself?_

Steve got the impression that this had been bothering Eric for some time, especially as he could recall the way the other people at the shoot had acted when he did something typical of his style, with that bingo joke the makeup lady made.

_I just want people to look at a photograph and feel something._

He sent that unprompted and Steve’s lips parted. He began to type back:

_When’s the opening?_

Eric typed back:

_Two days. I have to give a speech. I like being the center of attention, but only when it’s one-on-one. I come across as a real dumbass otherwise._

Steve hadn’t been to a gallery opening in a while.

_Is it obnoxious to invite myself?_

He sent the message, and then regretted it instantly, groaning when he realized he was assuming Eric gave him a second thought. They were only messaging on Twitter, after all.

He quickly added:

_I’m sure you won’t come across that way_

He thought he might have deterred Eric from replying with his enthusiasm, so he put her phone aside instead of waiting to get a reply and got back to typing. The scene was managing to take shape, the background filling to the corners of his mind. He was going to capture the atmosphere, damn it, he was going to make this work even if his brain was going to bleed out from his ears.

He kept at it for another twenty minutes, and then went back to edit and scowl at his progess. It was atrocious, but at least he knew what he didn’t want.

Why was he starting at the beginning? When did the action start in the story?

He erased it all and started over. In real life, the story never began at the very beginning. When you met someone knew, you met them at that moment, you met that version of them.

Steve had freedom. He could write whatever he wanted and if RKB really didn’t like it, he’d just have to start over, but he had a contract. He had some leverage over them. He knew Hope would always be on his side, because she always had been before.

He thought of the convention and the half-assed answers he gave to fans’ questions.

And then he thought of Jessica, the girl whose question they took last. If there was meant to be romance in this prequel, maybe Steve could push against the expectations people had.

He knew RKB would settle on some white bread director they could meld into whatever shape they wanted. Steve had control over the story…

He went back to typing, his stomach fluttering.

-

He told Wanda about L.A. in a rush over the phone, wincing a little by the end, and all he got for several seconds was a long silence.

He thought about her yelling at him, but he knew that outcome was unlikely. She’d always been open-minded as long as he’d known her. He didn’t expect what she said anyway:

“Steve, you were in art school. Why didn’t you come out then?”

He hadn’t got dressed even though it was past 2PM. He’d been writing all day, from the second he’d poured himself his first coffee and fed Zero.

He let out a surprised laugh, a spluttering kind of sound.

“Uh, I dunno. I was terrified. I didn’t want to.”

“Sorry, it’s just – God, Steve. The amount of guys you could’ve dated…”

“I know, I just – I didn’t think I fitted in, I dunno,” he muttered.

He knew it sounded stupid, and he hoped other people would understand that. He wasn’t enjoying coming out so far. He couldn’t send a mass email, or Tweet it out, not if he didn't want to have a complete mental breakdown. It had to be gradual, like shedding pieces of his skin. He didn’t know how comfortable he was with people examining him in the process.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you in L.A.,” he said, changing the subject.

“That’s okay, I knew you were busy,” she replied, but there were things left unsaid, because it was made all the more obvious now that Steve had had the time to see her, he’d just chosen not to.

Wanda cleared her throat.

“I’m less busy. Cleo fired me.”

Cleo was Wanda’s only other client. Steve froze, shocked.

“What? Did she say why?”

Wanda began to laugh, a tired kind of empty titter.

“Oh, _acting’s hard_ , she said. She’d rather do Instagram fulltime.”

Steve began to laugh, and Wanda joined him.

“God, that’s sad,” he muttered.

“I don’t know about that,” Wanda said. “She wasn’t great. I could only get her tiny gigs, and she was hardly willing to learn. She moved to L.A. and thought she’d snatch something up in no-time…”

He heard her sigh.

“Whatever. It’s just a little pathetic that a teenager decided she’d get rid of me without a second thought. Makes me wonder why I bother being out here, when everything’s back home…”

“Then move back,” Steve said. “What’s stopping you?”

“I have a lease –”

“Buck’ll cover it.”

“No,” she said. “What is it with him trying to give me shit I don’t want? He tried to buy me a fucking car, did he tell you that?”

Steve let her rant on for a while, glad that she hadn’t turned cold toward him. By the time she was done, she sounded a little sheepish.

“How’s the writing?” she muttered, and Steve snorted.

“Yeah, okay. Actually wrote some today,” he murmured. “When are you back here?”

“Not for a while. Why?”

He bit his lip, considering. “There’s this gallery opening. I guess I could go stag –”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a guy, Steve?”

Steve closed his eyes and stopped talking.

“Steve?” Wanda prompted.

“Yeah, it’s a guy,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for ditching you when I was in town…”

He ended up telling her everything about Peggy, too, and Wanda seemed to unravel the more he spoke. By the time he added how he’d gone to Darcy when he returned to New York, Wanda seemed to want to shoulder his feelings as always.

“Steve…”

“It’s okay, it just hurt a lot,” he muttered. “Then with Andrew, it was like – I didn’t get what I needed.”

He didn’t wait for Wanda to say any more, pressing on:

“I’m thirty-four. I needed to step out, be brave.”

“You _are_ brave, Steve,” Wanda said.

Steve couldn’t agree completely but he didn’t argue, either. He let her words hang there, unacknowledged.

“It’s the photographer. From the _Variety_ shoot. He’s got an exhibition opening tomorrow-”

Wanda began to laugh, and the tension was cut completely. Steve felt himself blush.

“God, I should’ve known…”

“What?” Steve said. “What’s so funny?”

“Just the way he was with you that day.”

“He’s married,” Steve said, trying to dampen the hope he was beginning to feel, the rush of anticipation about possibly seeing him again. “So I’m not trying to make it a habit to try and hit on married people…”

“How married is he?”

Steve thought of his birthday party back in July, when Darcy’s friend confessed she’d hoped Bucky and Darcy were in an open marriage.

“I doubt –”

“Then there’s no hassle in going to the opening by yourself, since nothing will come from it. Go to… be inspired, or whatever,” Wanda said, though he could sense she had other motives.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered.

-

Steve hung around the back of the crowd during the speech. Eric was dressed in a dark sports coat without a tie, his glasses stuck in his shirt pocket as he spoke without anything to read off of.

Steve had spent a better part of an hour that night debating whether or not to show up. In all likelihood, he’d see some photographs and then go home alone. It wasn’t the worst outcome, considering he was supposed to be writing, and Wanda might be right. He could be inspired by some art. Cormac McCarthy talked to people to find inspiration. Other writers traveled the world.

All Steve was doing was heading out to SoHo for a couple hours, and it wasn’t anything he had to suffer over. He got some of his best ideas when he was in the shower, too.

It didn’t stop him from taking a while to decide on what to wear. He shaved again, put on a cologne and wore a collared shirt under his leather jacket. He combed his hair and kept his reading glasses close-by, in case he needed them. He thought he should be prepared…

He found himself alone for most of the time, since the crowd was different to the usual circles he knew. He hadn’t seen a single friend, which was fine. He didn’t know if he was in any state to have normal conversations. He felt too excited, against his better judgment.

Eric was preoccupied, and rightly so. It was his big night, and the speech he gave was about the journey of man in a modern world, with the beauty he came across as a reflection of the times. It was a broad enough statement that didn’t come across as pretentious or ignorant as he’d feared it to be.

It also told Steve fuck all about what he was supposed to be looking at.

He sipped a glass of red wine because they weren’t serving beer and wandered around the gallery with one hand in his pocket, trying to connect the pictures. They were mostly black and white, and they were mostly people. Everyone was exceptionally handsome or beautiful.

The beauty wasn’t hard to find. It made it seem a little shallow, the more Steve saw. There were models he recognized, a couple of them old flames of Bucky’s. It was like looking at a long stretch of Vogue magazine photoshoots. They were beautiful, but they didn’t have a voice, as far as he could discern.

Steve didn’t know if he liked any of it. He had some art at home, but he didn’t claim to be any type of expert. The things he created, though… he felt like there was something to them, even the dumb sketch of that apple from two days ago.

He could feel he was disappointed, and he was surprised by that. He thought Eric was different to the sell-out types. Steve was a little shocked that he was a snob about this. It hadn’t occurred to him before that he thought this could be tacky.

He took out his phone, seeing Darcy had sent him a text, but before he could unlock his phone to open it, he heard a voice by his side.

“What do you think?”

Steve turned his head, and saw Eric by his side. His lips parted, and he was unsure of what to say. He was never a particularly good liar, and it was better to say quiet if he intended to spare anyone’s feelings.

“You hate it,” he added, and Steve didn’t deny it.

“I’m… not really sure what I’m looking at,” he admitted.

He and Eric were talking in low voices, with the crowd moving past them. Occasionally, someone would wave to Eric or come by to give a kiss on his cheek – two, like in Europe – and Steve watched Eric absorb it, the congratulations and the promises to catch up.

Where was his husband? Steve glanced around, and spotted him with another crowd, laughing with his hand on his belly. He seemed happy. Why wasn’t Eric by his side?

“But you don’t like it,” Eric said, when they were alone again.

“I can’t say I do,” Steve said. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I appreciate it,” Eric muttered. He gave a little sigh. “I hate it, too.”

Steve’s eyes snapped to his and he frowned.

“Why is this happening then, if you hate it?”

“My partner owns the gallery. He said it was time I had another show,” Eric murmured. His face slackened and he shrugged a shoulder.

The silence that passed between them wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, Steve was comfortable in it, and found himself finally loosening his abdomen. He’d been tensing the entire time and hadn’t known it.

“I feel a little out of place,” Steve murmured, and Eric’s lips quirked. “I don’t even drink wine. I’m like a frat guy, I should grow up…”

“Not my idea,” Eric said, and Steve felt himself smile. “Jasper hates that I can have a Corona with a wedge of lime and I’m happy…”

Steve wanted to kiss him. His honesty was a comfort.

“You shaved,” Eric murmured.

Steve blinked, feeling himself blush. His beard would cover most of that, and maybe that was Eric’s plan all along, because he grinned at him then as Steve ducked his head with a short breath of a laugh.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Jesus,” he heard Eric whisper, and his stomach flipped.

He swallowed, glancing over at Jasper again with the group of friends, but everyone was too absorbed to notice he and Eric were talking as far as he could tell. It didn’t stop Steve from feeling like he shouldn’t be talking. He wasn’t sure if he could trust himself, not after Peggy, and not after Andrew. He hadn’t been this impulsive in years. He should be afraid of that side of him – because it’s what got him into fights at school.

He couldn’t deny the way his stomach fluttered when Eric was staring back at him with that smile on his face. He felt seen. And maybe the bar in L.A. was like that, too, but it hadn’t mattered as much then.

“I came because my friend told me it’d inspire me,” Steve said, and Eric let out a soft chuckle, and Steve wanted to hear it again. He wanted to make him laugh properly, over and over.

His eyes creased at the sides when he smiled, and everything turned brighter.

“Did it work?”

“I don’t think so,” Steve murmured, and Eric covered his eyes with his hand as he laughed.

They lapsed into another silence and Steve glanced up at the photograph they stood in front of. It was a model contorting her body as he looked out a window. In every photograph, none of the subjects had good posture.

“You wanna do something that’d definitely get me in trouble?” Eric asked, and Steve’s eyes swung to meet his, and he was giving a little smile despite the spike of nerves he instantly felt.

He didn’t answer Eric, who moved a little closer to him, winking.

“Come on, we’ll get beers at the bar around the corner.”

They snuck out, taking a fire exit and slipping into the alley behind the gallery, and Eric was giggling under his breath, both of them breaking out into a jog to disappear down the street.

“Jesus, I hope we didn’t just trip the fire alarm –”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Steve muttered, and they dashed around the corner.

“Wait, stop, I got a stitch –”

Steve found himself laughing as Eric bent a little at the waist, panting with his hands on his hips.

“You okay?”

“Shut up, it’s deadly serious,” Eric panted. “Shut up…”

Steve covered his mouth with his hand, unable to stop the mirth from rising up. Eric straightened up after ten or so seconds, shooting Steve a look.

“You still want that beer?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, what’s the holdup?” Eric muttered, and he patted Steve's arm as he moved on.

The bar they reached was packed, but they managed to grab a couple stools in a corner, having to yell over the sound. There was a Giants game playing on one of the TV in an adjacent room, and Steve could make out the orange of the Denver Broncos uniform on the screen. He didn’t pay much attention, simply because it was his fantasy come to life – Eric was all to himself, and he was smiling at him as he tapped Steve’s bottle of Corona with his.

“I didn’t write anything for six weeks until two days ago,” Steve said, when Eric asked how it was going, since the last time they spoke it wasn’t happening. “I had ideas, but I didn’t know how to string ‘em together… What?”

Eric was smiling at him a little wider. “Nothin’, I just like hearing you talk.”

“Is it my accent?” Steve muttered, sipping his bottle. “It comes and goes –”

“I grew up in the Bronx,” Eric retorted. “Jasper tells me to stop tryin’ to sound like J.Lo. I think he wants us to be sophisticated queens…”

There was a cheer from around the TV, drowning Eric out for a couple seconds.

“… he’s probably trying to reach me already.”

He moved to take out his phone, and turned it over, nodding.

“Yeah.”

He put it away again, his face changing, humor gone.

“I won’t bother you with that crap,” he said, looking away.

Steve didn’t mind. He wanted to know him, and found himself trying to memorize everything he’d learned. He didn’t like what he was hearing, either way. It sounded as if Jasper had a lot of problems with Eric being himself.

“Does it happen a lot?” Steve asked, and Eric’s eyes met his, his brows creasing. “With your husband? The… need to appear a certain way?”

Eric drew in a breath, licking his lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does,” he murmured, and he took another drink and swallowed. “But in a way, I guess it’s my fault.”

“Can’t be,” Steve said instantly, and Eric chuckled without mirth.

“You’re sweet,” he said. “But I know I’ve got a type.”

Steve felt himself frown, wondering what he meant. Eric smiled for real.

“White boys.”

“Ah,” Steve said, and he felt that desire in his guts, because Eric didn’t look away, a pointed expression on his face. Steve was sure he’d blushed again, but the air in the bar was warm already.

They drank the rest of their beers in silence and they left together, slipping out into the street as the cool night air hit Steve. He turned to Eric, and he felt the awkwardness set in immediately.

Should he hug him? Shaking his hand seemed too formal. Steve hesitated, waiting.

“See you,” Eric said, and Steve rose a hand to wave, and Eric broke into a smile.

“Bye.”

“Bye,” Eric said, and he was turning away from him, walking back down the street.

Left alone, Steve let out a huff, rolling his eyes. Why didn’t he say anything else? He ground his eyes with the heels of his palms, remembering everything that passed between them.

‘Ah’? What kind of response was that? He could have said anything, he could have flirted. He could have ran with it all the way back to Brooklyn – Steve’s inner berating stopped abruptly, then. There was no way he’d have managed to invite Eric back to his apartment. He was way too shy, and Eric was married.

He arrived home, after walking the long way back from the station, and Zero was waiting for him, lying across his laptop with half-lidded eyes.

-

Steve caved two days later after lunch.

He’d been writing non-stop, forgoing showers and proper sleep. He felt possessed with it, but he couldn’t stop reminiscing every moment with Eric. He replayed it all until it felt like a movie in his head, the distance of time creating a kind of unreality. Had Eric really smiled at Steve, or was it a smirk, a cursory little thing?

He jerked off, thinking of Eric’s face, the way his hand wrapped around his wrist as he pulled Steve away from the stool on the day they met.

He knew he had a crush. It sustained him, but also made him feel completely stupid.

After he came and wiped himself clean, he tossed the tissues away in the garbage can in the bathroom and walked back to his desk. Zero had decided his chair was now free real estate, so Steve picked him up and placed the cat on his shoulders to take his seat once more.

Zero didn’t seem bothered by it. He draped himself over Steve, beginning to purr.

“You owe me rent, buddy,” Steve murmured, scratching his ears. He sighed. “When are you gonna pay me back?”

Zero nibbled his thumb and Steve took it away, taking out his phone. He had a couple emails he needed to answer about events for next year, but he found himself on Twitter instead, scrolling through his feed, looking.

He began to type to Eric:

_Thanks for the beer the other night. Maybe we could_

He backspaced, erasing his proposition. Eric was busy, and Steve was meant to be busy, too. He didn’t know how he was meant to phrase any type of question without sounding like a dweeb. He sent off the thanks and tucked his phone away again, his eyes shifting back to his laptop.

Steve worked steadily into the night, pausing only to consider dinner. He thought about ordering pizza, but remembered what he’d said to Eric about acting like a teenager with his tastes.

He attempted to make himself an omelette but ended up with a burnt mess on his plate, but he ate most of it, sitting down to watch something on TV. He decided on _Paris Is Burning_ , and Zero seemed happy with the choice, stretching across Steve’s lap while Steve petted him.

Steve’s phone buzzed lit up with a notification and he glanced down at it, his stomach fluttering at the Twitter handle he recognized.

Eric had written back:

_Can you talk to someone at your publishers about a discount? I just bought one of your Batman volumes and it’s extortion._

Steve began to type back:

_I don’t need a sponsor, why the bankruptcy?_

Eric was fast to reply in turn:

_Must be something about you_

Steve stared at the words, feeling his face grow hot. His eyes shifted back to the TV and he tried to stay present, but he’d already lost track. He turned his phone over, not able to trust himself.

-

He kept his head down, tried to justify the punishment of cutting himself off from the world. He was meant to be miles ahead of where he was already. He’d been paid millions in advance to write something and he needed to finish it. The sooner he’d got the first draft done, the better.

He’d answer the phone only half of the time, especially when he was in the middle of a sprint. For a movie with so little dialogue, he still had so much to cover. His least favorite scenes were the infodumps he detested in other movies. It was better if the audience had to work it out for themselves, because in real life, no one talked in that way, where they covered the plot in a few sentences to explain their motives.

Wanda returned to New York and came up to his apartment without asking, and Steve felt a brief irritation but it quickly dissipated when she said why she’d come to find him.

“So Eric’s ‘married’ but he’s not ‘married’,” she said, doing air-quotes.

She was leaning against the counter as Steve poured her a coffee. He tried not to visibly react when Wanda said this, but he kept his eyes on the task instead of her face.

“I went to a party last night, handed out some cards,” Wanda said, and she burst into a smile. “Jasper was there, the husband –”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve muttered, not wanting her to mention Eric’s spouse out loud.

“He was definitely with this guy at the party.”

“They weren’t just being friendly?” Steve said, finally glancing up, and Wanda tilted her head.

“Steve, seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m serious,” he retorted, laughing uneasily. “I don’t know how men interact…”

“I saw them kiss in a corner when I was talking to a potential client, so… I’d say that’s beyond friendly male interactions, _platonic_ ones at least,” she muttered. “So you don’t have to feel guilty about that.”

Steve didn’t know how to feel. He knew he didn’t want Eric to be married, period.

He told her about the bar after the gallery and Wanda was smiling by the end of it, and it was so foreign to Steve, seeing her pleased for him for once instead of worried.

“He likes you! He totally likes you,” she said, and Steve shrugged.

“I… don’t know what to do.”

“Steve, you’re allowed. You’re allowed to see him again,” Wanda said with a sigh, leaning over the bench to rub his arm. “But you should definitely shower first.”

-

He wanted to ask him, straight out: do you date other men?

He kept opening and reopening his messages with Eric, finally beginning to type something at 2AM a few days later, when he’d got stuck in a scene and his mind had wandered back to him yet again.

_Can I see you again?_

The phrasing was undeniable. It went beyond a shallow promise. He was asking permission, with an eagerness to it Steve couldn’t hide, no matter how dumb it probably was to show it.

He didn’t wait for a reply and went back to work, going back to the Soldier in the middle of a knife fight. He’d begun to understand exactly where everything needed to go, he just had to stitch it all together, not unlike a sewing pattern. He thought of Sarah then, holding up an apron she’d sewn herself, and then he was gone, he was sitting back in his chair and lost momentum.

He phone buzzed on his desk and he picked it up.

_Tomorrow, if you’re free. I’ll come find you_

Steve felt his heart leap at the opportunity, his mind so much further ahead, picturing Eric standing behind him as he typed, wrapping his arms around him as he worked.

-

Steve was distracted for most of the following day, looking out his window and listening to the life outside his apartment. He’d given Eric his number to text him the address.

He hoped he didn’t change his mind. Steve knew he needed to reel it in, keep a safe distance, but he found himself typing a long message in the afternoon after he decided to shave again:

_I’m worried about how I come across. I’m so sure you’ll think I’m a loser, because I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m so new to this you’ll laugh at me. I feel like apologizing over and over even before you’ve got here. I’m sorry._

He sighed, wanting to take it all back. He thought of Eric bailing, telling someone else about it, this messy man-baby that’s writing a movie for RKB. Maybe Eric thought he was dumb, just someone to look at, but even that Steve was beginning to question – maybe he was ugly, as well as pathetic.

His guts were churning as he put on a clean t-shirt, fiddling with his hair in the bathroom mirror. His phone buzzed and he swiped it up, his heart in his throat.

_Get a grip. I’ll see you at 8._

He had to laugh, a short one of relief that Eric wasn’t indulging his insecurities.

He knocked on his door ten minutes after eight, and Steve wondered if he should put on music, but he’d already fretted over everything else so far, so the apartment was instead dead silent as he walked to the front door to open it.

Eric stood before him, a small smile forming as he took him in, eyes traveling up and down Steve.

“Hey,” Steve breathed.

“Hey,” Eric replied, moving to step inside.

Steve didn’t move to touch him in any way, his eyes falling to the bag Eric was carrying. There were little green leaves sticking out of it and Eric met his gaze.

“I thought I’d cook,” he said, and Steve blinked. “Unless you had dinner?”

“No, I – I haven’t,” Steve replied. “Please, um, come…”

Eric followed him into the kitchen that overlooked the living room, his eyes falling to Zero on the couch.

“Your roommate’s cute,” he murmured, and Zero blinked at him, sniffing the air.

Eric began to unpack the plastic bag, taking out scallions and a few tomatoes, before tugging off his jacket. He wore a simple t-shirt underneath, the collar loose from wear, and Steve took his jacket, placing it on the hook next to his coat by the front door.

When he returned to Eric’s side, he’d managed to find the cutting board and a knife and was preparing the scallions.

“You want a beer?” Steve asked. Eric smiled.

“Sure.”

Steve uncapped two beers and placed one by Eric’s side and took a sip, licking his lips once he’d swallowed.

“What are you making?”

“ _Huevos Pericos_ ,” Eric said, and Steve blinked.

He didn’t speak a word of Spanish and he didn’t pretend to know what was said, waiting for Eric to elaborate.

He glanced up from the cutting board, pausing his chopping.

“It’s like scrambled eggs,” he said, and Steve nodded. “You eat eggs?”

“I tried making an omelette the other night,” Steve said.

It wasn’t even an interesting story, but he wanted to tell it anyway, feeling his cheeks heat when he realized it wasn’t going anywhere. He rubbed the back of his head.

“It was sad.”

“That’s not good,” Eric murmured, and he got back to it.

He worked steadily, asking for a fry pan when he’d finished cutting the vegetables, and within twenty minutes, he was done and serving it up on two heaping plates, and they sat down at the table as Zero began to circle.

He stood up on hind legs, touching Eric’s thigh and mewling.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “You’re a pretty kitty.”

He gave Zero a little bit of egg, which he gulped down happily, beginning to wash himself as Eric met Steve’s eye, looking the closest thing to sheepish that Steve had ever seen him.

“Sorry –”

“It’s fine, you made dinner, and he’s always eating my toast,” Steve said, and Eric chuckled.

“What’s his name?”

“Zero,” Steve said. “He’s not my cat, technically.”

“Is he named after the dog from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_?” Eric asked, and Steve glanced down at Zero, thinking.

“Knowing his owner, probably,” he murmured. He gave Zero a little more from his own plate. “He belongs to Stephen Strange.”

He looked down at his plate instead of Eric’s face, hearing him begin to chuckle again.

“I can tell that was painful for you to say,” he said, and Steve met his gaze, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“I don’t like how phony it makes me sound, I guess,” he muttered. “He’s just – he’s just a guy.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Eric said, and Steve was thankful he did. “But if I was looking after Zero, Jasper would be mentioning it all the time. ‘You’ll never guess whose cat we have in the loft’…”

He rolled his eyes.

“God.”

Steve felt something inside him shift, the spell broken. He hadn’t thought of Eric’s husband for a little while, riding the high of the last hour because it was only theirs to share.

“Steve.”

He glanced up again, and it was odd to hear Eric say his name. It felt as if he was dipping into a new language and Steve wasn’t sure if he was ready.

“Yeah?” he said, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

“I wanted to come here,” he said, and Steve felt himself nod, acknowledging it. “And I’m not doing anything behind Jasper’s back.”

Steve nodded again.

“We see other people. It’s always been that way,” Eric said.

Steve picked up his beer to take a sip, to steady himself. He hoped the walls weren’t about to cave in on him.

“But that thing about appearances –” Steve began, and Eric nodded, cutting him off.

“We try to not advertise it too much. Jasper wants us to be seen as sophisticated and monogamous. He thinks we’re not taken seriously if we don't,” he said.

“That’s bullshit,” Steve said, without pausing to think. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

“I know, I know,” Eric murmured, putting up a hand. “I feel the same way.”

Steve decided he didn’t like Jasper. He’d never tell Eric to change, to fit in. Maybe it was a little hypocritical of him, considering he hadn’t come out until a couple weeks ago, but he didn’t want to take back what he said.

“I keep talking,” Eric said, passing a hand over his face. “You tell me about you.”

Steve began to talk about what he’d been doing lately, the writing and how he was cooped up most of the time to get through it all. His sentences were clunky at first, but then he saw how Eric was reacting to him as he divulged more, telling him about growing up in Brooklyn with Bucky, and how bizarre it was whenever he took a step back to examine it all, considering how it turned out.

“He’s incredible,” Eric murmured. “Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

“Why?” Steve said.

“Because I just want him to know that I like you, though the gays adore James Barnes,” Eric said, a grin forming.

He was leaning one elbow on the table, Steve copying him.

“Do they?” Steve murmured, skipping over the first part of Eric’s sentence.

“Yeah,” Eric said. “Some of us kind of hoped he’d come out one day.”

Steve snorted, muttering: “Well, on the Kinsey scale, Buck’s about a minus-two, if that were possible. Every woman’s a masterpiece to him. He had the biggest crush on my ma…”

He looked away, feeling too much, taken aback by how his eyes misted suddenly just thinking of Sarah. He figured it was his exhaustion catching up to him, since the last day had taken a lot out of him.

“When did your mom die?” Eric asked, and Steve’s eyes snapped to his.

“How’d -?”

“Mine passed a couple years back,” he murmured. “Worst fucking year of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and Eric shrugged a shoulder, a half-smile on his face. Steve bit his lip. “My ma passed when I was thirteen.”

He cleared his throat, standing up to retrieve his phone from the charger and came back, holding up a picture of baby Nats.

“My niece,” he said, and Eric took the phone, examining her. “She’s Buck’s kid.”

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured.

Steve explained how Judith took him in when Sarah died, like in the _Brooklyn Baby_ movie.

“But there wasn’t any crime, that was added for the story,” Steve added, and Eric began to laugh. “No money launderin’, no nothin’.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Eric murmured, crossing his arms. “You seem like the rebellious type.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, and he was sitting back.

They fell silent, and Steve picked up his bottle to drain the last of his beer, sensing Eric’s eyes on his movements. He stood up to take their empty plates and said:

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

He went into the kitchen and put everything in the sink, running some water to rinse the dishes, combing a hand through his hair.

He heard footsteps behind him and turned around, seeing Eric coming straight toward him.

“Eric,” he said, for no reason at all, except to make it real, that he was there and looking at him the way he was.

His hands reached for Steve, coming up to take hold of his face, and Steve went still, searching Eric’s face. He didn’t want to stop looking at him for even a second.

Their first kiss was slow, as Eric pulled Steve toward him, their noses beside one another as Eric pressed his lips to Steve’s. Steve closed his eyes, his breath hitching as Eric began to lick into his mouth, breathing deeper as he tasted him.

Their mouths met in the middle of their tilted heads, Steve’s lips parting for Eric to sweep his tongue inside, and he heard Eric’s soft moan and his fingers curled in his hair. He couldn’t believe he was making the sound for him, for only Steve to hear in that moment.

They broke apart slowly, little pecks on each other’s lips as Steve’s pulse was rich in his ears, feeling a nervous tremor in his hands.

Eric swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he pressed their foreheads together and breathed with Steve, and Steve was dizzy with it, with feeling so much.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered, and Eric blinked up at him, pulling back to look him in the eye.

“Come here…”

Steve kissed him, taking hold of his jaw, loving how his beard felt rubbing against his skin, the taste of Eric’s spit in his mouth, Eric’s hands circling his waist.

He began to moving them back, kissing him as they made their way to the bedroom. He kicked the door shut, not wanting Zero to trespass.

He felt drunk with desire, but felt a sick, nervous feeling begin to take over the second they separated, as Eric sat down on his bed.

“I…”

He meant to say he was afraid. He was afraid of disappointing Eric, of being laughed at for how bad he was at all this. He thought of Andrew and things moving too fast, and how sick he felt afterward, how he wished he could curl in on himself and disappear, because if he couldn’t be happy with sleeping with a man, what was he supposed to do?

“Steve, it’s okay,” Eric said, and he held up a hand, beckoning him.

Steve sat beside him, their shoes beside each other on the floor. Eric lay a hand on Steve’s knee, moving up to give his thigh a gentle squeeze. Steve rose a hand to rub Eric’s shoulder, letting himself feel the shape of his muscles, gliding up to touch his neck.

Eric’s eyes went to his mouth, then moved up to his eyes.

“I’m bad at this,” Steve whispered. “There’s only been one other man, before you…”

Eric nodded, and Steve’s guts twisted as he asked:

“What happened?”

“I, uh, met him at a bar,” he whispered. “I hadn’t even kissed – I-I’ve only ever been with women. I didn’t tell him that. I just wanted it over and done with…”

He could feel his face was burning.

“It’s okay,” Eric said again. “Do you want to stop? I can stop…”

“No, no,” Steve whispered, a little hasty, gripping Eric’s shirt, pulling him a little closer, and he kissed him once, lightly. “I just – I want you to adjust your expectations, I guess…”

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” Eric said, a smile forming. “Just gimme a kiss…”

Things escalated, and Steve was tugging off his shirt, Eric’s hands skirting over his chest and stomach, and Steve’s dick was aching in his jeans, threatening to break through the denim when Eric sucked at his pulse point, Steve’s hand under his shirt, trying to lift it up.

Eric obliged, moving back to tug his shirt off and throw it aside, and Steve was pushing him into the mattress, their shoes and socks tugged off in turn. Steve was kissing down his front, rubbing his face on the hair, breathing in his scent. He could see the tent in Eric’s jeans and he worked his way down, fingers fumbling on his fly.

Eric lifted his hips and Steve pulled it all down, his face so close to Eric’s cock he could smell his musk and felt his mouth go dry. Eric’s hand went to the side of his face as Steve stared down at him, his heart hammering.

“Steve?”

“I’m okay,” he managed to reply. “I…”

He took hold of Eric, examining him in the low lamplight. He was uncut like Steve, perhaps a little shorter but thicker, with a nest of dark pubic hair at the base, and Steve reached to stroke the hair with his other hand, letting his fingers feel the texture of the curls.

Eric was already leaking and flushed, and Steve’s thumb swiped over it, circling the crown of him. He licked his lips, moving between his thighs to hover over him.

Their eyes met and Steve ducked down, holding his breath as he took the first swipe over Eric’s blunt tip, his hand wrapped around his shaft.

The silence was heavy. He tasted kind of salty, and Steve repeated the action, slower. He took a breath, gazing at the ridges of him, the veins under his hand. Eric’s hand stayed on him, in his hair or on his shoulder, rubbing him, and Steve felt better, knowing he was there with him, in more ways than one.

Steve opened his mouth and lay the head flat against his tongue, then wrapped his lips around him, beginning to suckle at him slowly.

So he was proper cocksucker now. He closed his eyes, letting it sink in, what it felt like, knowing that this was how Eric tasted, and he was burning up with want. He heard Eric sigh and it tripped something in him, made him take him further down until he was close to gagging, and he was stroking him as he sucked harder and faster.

He was afraid of scraping him with his teeth, and he began to feel for the girls who’d done this to him, expertly pulling on him without a hassle, but he knew this had to be about muscle memory, because he felt awkward and unsure. He glanced up at Eric, seeing his face was flushed, his lip between his teeth.

“Keep – keep going,” he whispered, and Steve felt a bloom of pride, that someone so beautiful was reacting this way to him.

Steve began to bob his head, and Eric’s hand came down over his fist, squeezing.

“Move it, like, _yeah_ …”

Eric groaned at the end, when Steve began to stroke him faster, harder with a twist toward the top. He remembered this being done to him and how it made everything fuzzy around the edges. He saw the glazed expression on Eric’s face, his thighs beginning to tremble as Steve picked up speed.

Everything was slippery and frenzied, and Steve could feel Eric growing hotter, his breath coming in pants.

“Steve –”

His hips tilted and Steve felt Eric’s hand against his face flex and he squeezed his eyes shut, Eric going rigid.

He came, twitching with it, as Steve swallowed it down, still moving his hand in slower strokes, pulling off when he heard Eric sigh again.

He could taste all of it, and he thought he’d be afraid, but it felt so natural, tasting Eric’s come at the back of his throat, and he felt a little congested with it, trying to adjust to the sensation without seeming disgusted.

He sat up, moving up to reach Eric, who was already tugging him into his chest.

He gave Steve a slow, languid kiss, his hand in his hair, his other sliding down his back in gentle strokes. Steve’s face bumped his when they broke apart, Eric’s soft laugh in his ears.

“I’ll return the favor…”

“If you put your mouth on me, I’ll die,” Steve whispered, and Eric chuckled.

“Can’t have that.”

Steve shifted Eric in his arms, until his arm was under his neck, and he nuzzled his beard, licking his lips and still tasting him.

“That was great,” he heard Eric whisper, and felt his lips press into his cheek.

Steve moved back a little. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I’m not just saying that,” Eric said, lifting his brows. He rose a hand to caress his cheek, unhurried in the movements. He swallowed, eyes searching his face.

Steve watched Eric watching him, their silence comfortable, something building up from Steve’s core.

Eric gave a little smile, not cocky or teasing, almost sad. Steve recognized it finally as compassion.

“You beautiful boy,” Eric whispered.

Steve felt his eyes sting with emotion, like he’d been hit with it on the nose, and he blinked down at Eric, unable to speak.

Eric kissed him, their mouths slanting together, and Steve let him take over, finally felt himself loosen again, sighing into it when Eric’s hand snaked down to his fly.

Steve took off his jeans, along with his underwear and he moved back into Eric’s arms, their legs tangling as Eric kissed him harder, Steve’s hips canting a little with the need he felt, everything spurred on with their skin pressed together.

When Eric wrapped a hand around Steve, he gave a moan, sure he sounded starved of comfort. He whimpered when Eric began to stroke him, Steve’s whole body tingling.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long, everything rolling over him like waves, and he was shivering with pleasure, breaking away from Eric’s mouth and almost falling on top of him as he pushed into his fist.

Eric took hold of the back of his neck to anchor him, and Steve groaned:

“ _Hah_ – oh God…”

He came, spilling on Eric, over his fist and on his chest, the pleasure so hot and absolute he lost vision. He knew nothing else for a few seconds, until he was back in Eric’s arms, the last of the tremors shaking them both…

They lay together after, Eric’s fingers carding through his hair, stroking his face, while Steve watched him. Their legs still wrapped together, their skin bare. The air smelt of sex and sweat, and Steve didn’t want to move, and he certainly didn’t want Eric to leave, either.

Eric stayed until morning, eating toast with him at the table. There was a lot of kissing in between, and a moment when Steve took Eric back in his mouth when he’d seen him curled up in his bed with his eyes shut.

Eric lifted his hands when it was time for him to go, gently shutting Steve’s eyelids with the pads of his thumbs, and Steve felt himself smile.

“I’ll call you,” he whispered, and he kissed him on the mouth. “Will you pick up if I call?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed, blinking down at him.

Eric kissed him again, breathing deeply, separating with a squeeze of their hands.

“Okay.”

Steve shut his door closed a minute later, when Eric had made his way down the stairs, disappearing from his sight. His eyes were on his bare feet, and he felt his stomach still fluttering, feeling safe and warm underneath it all.

Zero let out a soft chirrup and Steve glanced his way, their eyes meeting.

“What? Don’t gimme that look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4bdXFRdxuhkHGriOk5xz?si=zTrIh8OvTb6rKhwpPss8Pw)   
>  [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	13. Part Thirteen: Amber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this universe aaaaaaaAAAAAAaaaAAAAHHHHhhHHHH (nsfw!)

_But I will be the one you need_  
 _The way I can't be without you_  
\- "Geyser" by Mitski

**Part Thirteen: Amber**

Steve sat back in his chair, pulling in a deep breath. The clock on his laptop read after 3AM. He’d woken when a siren came screaming by his apartment building. As he was ripped from his deep sleep, he remembered he wasn’t alone, Eric facing him as he lay on his side, and he felt the familiar warmth in his stomach. It was a comfort, but Steve wasn’t going to give it another name just yet.

They’d been hooking up throughout October. Eric was busy, traveling a lot for his job and with Jasper. Steve could feel the jealousy eating him alive, like the acid in his stomach had somehow turned more corrosive, but whenever Eric came back to him, it felt as if no time at all had passed without him. They would pick it up where they left off, inevitably falling into bed.

It was good sex, and it hadn’t worn off in terms of excitement. It felt as if Steve had opened up an entirely new world to himself, where he could express himself without shame. He knew it wasn’t perfect. There were things he wanted that couldn’t happen, at least not right now.

He hoped Eric wasn’t going to toss him aside, so he found himself overcompensating, never turning him down, always being so accommodating, always there to take his call or reply to a text.

They’d come back from a party with Eric’s friends, a mix of young and old art folk he’d gathered over the years, and Steve enjoyed himself. He drank beer and chatted with new faces. He burst out laughing at jokes, and stayed by Eric’s side for the most part. Even when they were separated, he sensed him close-by, his eyes lingering on Steve across the room.

As they left, Eric opened the door for him when they waved goodbye, his hand on the small of his back as he guided him down the steps to the lobby. He kissed him on the train back to Brooklyn, brushing his lips against his cheek as he hugged him. His hand would fall to the nape of Steve’s neck, or to his jean-clad knee.

He tried to confront the space they occupied, to try to keep track of himself, but he was lost every time. He’d feel so held even with just a meeting of their eyes, so it was no wonder he ran toward Eric at any opportunity. He didn’t understand what he could possibly do for him, when he was so inexperienced, but he wasn’t going to question it out loud. He wasn’t that foolish.

He rubbed his eyes, pondering whether or not a lot of his story was just gratuitous. It was meant to be a tragedy, it came with the territory of writing about traumatic experiences, but Steve wondered if somewhere along the way he’d crossed a line and not realized it, and now it was too late.

He heard a creak behind him and turned his head, seeing Eric lingering in the doorway, rubbing his arm. He’d put his underwear back on and shivered.

“Usually when I wake up alone, it’s at home,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and he shut his laptop abruptly, getting back up. “Just got caught up in somethin’… when I woke up before.”

He approached Eric, who smiled up at him, reaching to brush the hair from his face affectionately.

“You need to switch off,” he whispered.

“I know,” Steve said, chuckling. “Hypocrite.”

Eric pulled him into a kiss, his hand skirting down Steve’s arm to his waist, before dipping to grip his hip and press him into his body, their noses brushing when Steve broke away.

“I could wear you out,” Eric whispered, and Steve smiled, his eyes dipping to Eric’s mouth.

“Yeah? How so?”

They tumbled into bed, underwear tugged off and kicked away, their bodies slotting together as Steve rolled them so Eric lay under him, his tongue pressing between his lips.

Steve reached between them to stroke Eric, hearing the chuckle Eric gave him muffled by his own lips, their hips grinding together.

Steve drew back from Eric’s mouth, jerking him slowly, his mouth moving down Eric’s jaw to behind his ear. He loved the way his arms wrapped around him, holding him flush to his chest. He could smell him best there, wishing he could always have it, to call upon it when he was anxious or lonely.

Memory didn’t seem to suffice, but from what he could discern, it was vaguely sweet and musky, and sometimes his woodsy cologne gathered there as well, making Steve melt.

Eric wrapped a hand around Steve’s cock and Steve moaned, moving back up for Eric to capture him in a heated kiss, biting his lower lip, making Steve louder. He knew he was dripping into Eric’s fist, panting with it all, grabbing and kissing whatever he could reach.

He pulled back, trying to not seem like a horny teenager, but it was hard when Eric stared up at him with dark eyes, his lips bitten and wet. His chest was heaving, his blood burning with want.

“Do you want to -?” Eric began.

Steve’s eyes fell to Eric’s thighs that were parting further, and he swallowed, thinking of Andrew and everything that came with it.

Eric knew about L.A., every awful detail of it. Steve wasn’t sure he’d like a man being inside him, not how he was with Andrew. He knew he thought of filling Eric to the hilt often enough, usually when he was alone in the shower while Eric was away.

“You wanna fuck me this time?” Eric whispered, and Steve’s eyes snapped to his.

“I – Are you sure?” he asked.

Eric smiled and Steve felt his stomach flip. God, he was so beautiful, so open to him.

“Yeah,” he breathed, and Steve felt his heart swell. “C’mere, come kiss me…”

Steve fell into his arms again, kissing him thoroughly, his hand deep in his hair, his other falling between Eric’s legs, further down over his heavy cock, cupping his balls. Eric gave a short laugh, his hot breath on Steve’s mouth, and Steve stared into his eyes, wanting to see his face as he went further down…

His fingers brushed Eric’s entrance and he felt the shift between them, his chest tight.

It couldn’t just be sex. Eric wasn’t bored in his marriage. Surely, Steve wasn’t picking up on something he made up in his wildest fantasies. Eric responded to him with an undeniable reverence, and Steve felt a burst of pride – _this_ man wanted him in every way.

“Hold on,” Steve whispered, and he broke away, leaning over to open his bedside drawer and retrieve a condom and lube.

In the process, Eric was leaning up, pressing hot kisses to Steve’s neck, his hand on his ass, fingers digging into his cheek. Steve bit his lip, hoping he wouldn’t come the second his cock was slicked up by his own hand.

He wrapped the condom on, Eric attacking his throat as his fingers fumbled, and then he was uncapping the lube and dousing himself.

“Okay?” Eric murmured in his ear, nibbling his skin, and Steve nodding silently, feeling taut as a wire.

Steve took hold of his chin, pulling him back up for a kiss to his lips, their teeth clacking from the effort, and Eric was laughing breathlessly by the time he broke away. Steve had turned it into a fight, chasing his lips and grabbing him tighter, his other hand slipping back down between Eric’s legs.

Eric let out a soft sound, seeming beyond his control to emit, when Steve’s fingertip pressed inside him. Steve drew in a fresh breath, Eric so hot and tight around him, pushing further in…

“Steve…”

“I wanted to feel,” Steve whispered, and Eric let out a moan, grabbing him by the hair.

“Christ…”

Steve could tease him for a while, he could make him come with his fingers, or his tongue if he wanted to make him wet and open and begging for it, but he was already aching for it, his arousal making his face burn, his nervous tremors back despite how welcome he felt.

“C’mon, baby, c’mon,” Eric whispered, and Steve nodded, slowly withdrawing his finger.

He kept kissing Eric, slower, trying to calm himself, to catch his breath. Eric nuzzled his face and grabbed him between his hands, their eyes locking.

Eric’s mouth fell open, Steve doing the same as he first pressed against his hole, the breach seeming to be in slow motion as Steve was sheathed like a tight glove.

He hooked Eric’s thigh over his arm and pushed his leg up, tensing his abdomen, moving inch by inch…

“That feels fuckin’ perfect, Steve,” Eric whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

Steve felt impossibly deep, everything so tight. The pleasure seemed infinite, rolling over and over, his heart hammering in his chest, his face burning with desire and want turned to aching need.

He began to pull back and then push into him, hips hitting Eric’s ass. The further they went, the more sound Steve couldn’t stop from making, overlapping with Eric’s own moaning, and he can’t stop thinking about how it could be a mistake – since he didn’t think there was any way he could come back from this with his heart intact. Eric could walk out the door and never see him again, and he’d be a wreck.

Eric sucked Steve’s tongue into his mouth, hands holding his face, and it’s so warm and safe, like home. Eric was home and Steve began to move faster, chasing his pleasure, chasing Eric’s tongue with his.

He reached between them, sensing he was going to lose all ability to think any minute now, the edges of everything beginning to darken. He wrapped around Eric’s leaking cock and jerked him hard and fast. He felt Eric’s cheeks clench around him and he bucked into him with mounting speed, the pleasure coiling at the base of his spine, his balls tightening…

“Fuck,” Eric gasped, and he came, splashing across his chest in long, hot spurts –

Steve flew, everything swooping down as his hips lost momentum, and he came with a groan, Eric’s mouth pressed to his as he bucked through it…

There were both panting, the world spinning, and Steve tried not to collapse on top of Eric, tried to stay upright somehow… He leaned against him anyway, Eric’s kisses peppering his face.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve managed to reply, his voice thin.

They cleaned up and Eric clung to Steve in bed afterward, his leg thrown over him, tracing the features of his face. Steve knew he wouldn’t sleep, even though the exhaustion went as deep as his marrow. He kept wanting to stay awake with Eric, to feel himself touched and treasured.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered in the dark, and he felt Eric rub his nose against his cheek.

“Don’t,” he whispered back, and Steve blinked. He heard Eric swallow. “Keep waiting for you to prove me right…”

“What do you mean?”

Eric sighed. “I’m old and tired, I thought you’d… I thought you were too good to be true.”

Steve turned a little, kissing Eric, and Eric made a little sound against his lips. He knew later in the day, Eric would change back to his confident, joking self. This was just pillow talk.

“I’m not that great,” Steve murmured, when they’d broken apart. “I… I’m not as good as you think I am.”

He knew he might regret it, but maybe it would just be ignored, so they could keep carrying on this way for a while longer.

“I don’t like sharing.”

Eric made a soft, humming sound, like he’d heard it before.

“Yeah.”

“I’m a one-person kind of guy,” Steve added. “I know it’s old-fashioned, but I don’t do anything in halves. I want – I want who I want, and then that’s it for me.”

He thought of Beth and how he’d known they weren’t meant to be, and the same thing happened with Wanda. He’d wanted Peggy for years and there was no compromise, much to his detriment. He knew with Eric now that he deserved to know the truth, to be warned.

“You’re shouldn’t wait for me,” Eric whispered.

It surprised him that he was that direct – and when he took a second to think about it, it made absolute sense that Eric was so honest with him, too. He’d only ever been truthful with him since they met.

“I’m not going to wait for someone who doesn’t want me to have all of them.”

Eric pulled away then, rolling out of Steve’s arms, laying on his back. Their bare shoulders brushed and Steve stared up in the dark, listening to Eric breathe beside him, the rasping of his hand passing over his face.

“Steve…”

“I know,” he whispered. “I knew you were married. I just wanted you to know.”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly thick.

“I just wanted you to know,” he whispered again, in the dark.

-

Steve must have fallen asleep. He woke alone, the sheets smelling of Eric. He lay on his side, biting the inside of his cheek.

He couldn’t regret it. He learned what he was capable of, he’d learned about what he’d wanted.

He was a little pissed off, if he was completely honest. Eric hadn’t ever left him without saying goodbye before. He didn’t like that it left things unfinished.

He got up finally, after stewing for half an hour, listening to life outside his bedroom window. He managed to make himself some coffee and go back to his laptop, re-reading what he’d fixed in the middle of the night.

Too passive. The Soldier was a victim of a lot of brutality, but he was a fighter. He began to scrap whole sections, working well into the afternoon.

He saw Zero hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch last night, and when Steve finally took a break to each a late lunch, the cat didn’t follow him around in the hopes to get a snack. Steve went to his bowl and found it relatively full, then he walked over to Zero and stroked his back.

“Buddy,” he murmured.

Zero made a pained little sound and Steve felt his stomach drop. He crouched, putting his face close to Zero’s to peer in his eyes.

“Buddy, what’s up? What’s wrong?” he whispered. He stroked his face, but Zero turned away.

He made the same little sound, so Steve scooped him up, moving back to his bowl in the kitchen. He placed Zero in front of it, petting him to encourage him. Zero didn’t start to eat, instead moved to walk back to the couch.

Steve felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he took it out, still staring after Zero. He seemed wrecked, and Steve had never seen him this out of it before.

He glanced at his phone, seeing Darcy’s name on the display, and unlocked it hastily, putting it to his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey! I was hoping you’d come over tomorrow. Buck’s not training and I know Nats is missing you.”

  
Steve thought of Bucky, and how he hadn’t seen him in weeks. He’d been avoiding him, and he’d been avoiding thinking about him as well. He knew it was Darcy’s way of offering him the opportunity to clear the air.

“Uh, sure. Tomorrow?” Steve asked, distracted.

“Perfect. You… you been seeing anyone?” she asked, a little hesitantly.

Steve wondered if she’d heard some rumor, since he had been walking around in broad daylight with Eric, as well as on their dates at night.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Maybe I could bring him along?”

He could picture Darcy’s gap in her teeth showing as she smiled broadly.

“Hell, yeah! _Please_.”

“Okay,” Steve said, laughing a little. “Tomorrow night. We’ll bring something for dessert.”

He hung up eventually, looking over at Zero again. He hadn’t gone to sleep, but seemed to be lying there anyway, not moving.

Steve went back over to him, picking him up.

“Let’s try again…”

Still Zero didn’t eat. He drank a little water, but wandered back to the couch when Steve let him go with a sigh. He decided to keep an eye on that, and went back to writing.

-

Their first fight.

Steve tried to keep himself in check, to not sound even slightly affected by how Eric left him that morning without a goodbye. He tried to keep his voice bright as he spoke on the phone, leaning back in his chair, Zero in his lap.

“Darcy invited us to have dinner with her and Buck tomorrow night,” he said, when Eric had finished telling him how tedious work had been for him that day.

He hoped it would buoy him, possibly cheer him up. He’d done that many times over, with his hands and kisses, over the last few weeks.

“Eric?” he added, when he didn’t respond.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” he said eventually, and Steve felt fear creeping up on him, but he refused to back down.

“How come?”

“It’s – look, it’s difficult to –”

“I met your friends,” Steve said, his tone clipped.

“You met _some_ of my friends,” Eric corrected. “This is your family. I didn’t make you meet my family.”

Steve despised his tone. He used that tone when he spoke of Jasper often enough. He didn’t want to be lumped into the same category as _that_ man, the man who didn’t accept Eric for his heritage, his working-class background, his unrefined nature.

“I’m not _making_ you –” Steve said, and he sighed. “What did I do? I thought we had a good time last night. I...”

A voice in his head was screaming at him. _What are you doing?_ Why was Steve complicating things? He should let it go, wait until Eric asked to come over again.

“What are we, Eric? Friends? Are we best friends?” he said, words coming in rapid fire. “Are we- are we fucking? What, what are we?”

“Steve, you _knew_ who I was when you met me,” Eric said.

He sounded fierce, and Steve had to decipher the words. When they met, he’d never heard of Eric before. He must have meant he knew he was a demanding jerk, like how he’d taken the camera off the tripod and forgone all the preparations, doing whatever he pleased.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Steve snapped.

“I’ll call you in a couple days,” Eric said, deflecting the question. “Tell them I’m busy.”

He hung up on Steve.

He took the phone away, staring at it for several long seconds, until the screen went black. He unlocked it again, opening his messages, beginning to tap something out.

_What the fuck Eric_

He backspaced it all, not sending anything, hoping Eric had seen him begin to type. He wanted to throw his phone against the wall, he was so full of desperation so fast he couldn’t catch his breath.

He sat on the couch, his phone face-down as the TV played a show he wasn’t taking in. His thoughts kept circling around and around, and he wondered how the fuck he misread everything that badly.

He lost his temper, picking up Zero at dinner time, plonking him in front of his bowl again, watching him like a hawk.

“You don’t like it anymore? What? You sick of me, too? You want Stephen? He ain’t here, buddy.”

He hated himself – he hadn’t felt this way in years. Everything he did or said bothered him. He didn’t know how he’d gone this long with a reprieve from the self-loathing. He was a coward, he was selfish. He was taking this all out on a goddamn animal, just because he could.

“He doesn’t _want_ you,” he said to Zero, who obviously didn’t understand his words. “So you’re stuck with me, alright?”

He crouched, picking Zero back up. He gave a broken mewl and Steve felt his eyes mist.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Zero didn’t purr. Steve knew that was a bad sign. He kept holding him as he picked up his phone, Googling vets open 24/7. He found one within walking distance and put on his jacket, tucking Zero inside, wrapping his arms around himself and half jogging through the night.

The waiting room was virtually empty, except for an old woman with a rabbit in a little box. She squinted up at Steve as he approached the receptionist desk, and the nurse behind it shook her head at him, rising from her chair.

“You can’t dump him here, sir.”

She looked irritated, like Steve was a nuisance, and Steve shook his head.

“No, please, I have to see someone, he’s not eating,” he said, and the nurse’s brow furrowed. “I’ll keep holdin’ him…”

“Sir, it’s alright, just fill out this form for me.”

Steve was handed a plastic clipboard and Steve took it with the pen she passed from behind the desk. She gave a little smile.

“It’s alright.”

Steve nodded, taking a seat opposite the old lady. Despite not being his best, Zero was peeking out from Steve’s jacket, sniffing the air with his eyes on the bunny in the box full of holes.

“Hey, he’s not chow,” Steve whispered. Zero kept staring with interest as Steve filled the form.

By the time he returned it to the nurse, the old lady had been called – her rabbit’s name was Bugs, naturally – and Steve waited with Zero, his knee jiggling.

Time dragged. His mind went to dark places, thinking of Sarah and the hospital waiting room he sat in with Bucky when she was first diagnosed. He bit his lip, looking down at Zero.

“Zero?”

The vet was a man in his fifties with a receding hairline, his smile warm as he spotted Zero in Steve’s jacket.

“Come on through.”

Steve put Zero on the table in front of Dr. Maggio, trying to explain the symptoms with as much detail as possible.

“How old is he?” Dr. Maggio asked, and Steve tried to remember, but then realized he’d never known.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s young,” Dr. Maggio murmured, turning Zero to face him. “He’s not eatin’, you said?”

“Yeah. And he eats everything,” he said. “I… I yelled at him before.”

“That’s fine,” Dr. Maggio said, chuckling at Steve’s admission. “Cats can be real punks, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was a pain in the ass – huh, little guy? Let’s check your biters…”

Zero let out a little growl as he struggled, Dr. Maggio’s deft hands going to clasp the hinges of his jaw.

“Yep – that’s your problem. His teeth,” Dr. Maggio said. “I think we’ll need a couple extractions…”

“But he’s – I mean, otherwise, he’s fine?” Steve asked, and Dr. Maggio glanced up at him, laughing.

“Jeez, are you kiddin’? He’s perfect. We’ll keep him overnight and you can pick him up in the mornin’.”

Steve felt himself deflate with relief, dropping his head as he leaned against the table. Dr. Maggio let him gather himself for a few seconds, before murmuring:

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just – Jesus Christ,” Steve whispered. “I thought he was dyin’.”

Zero was looking at Steve, then licked the tip of his nose eagerly.

“Can I stay, and wait for him?” Steve asked.

Dr. Maggio’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t see why not, but it’ll be a while.”

Steve didn’t care. He gave Zero a kiss on his head before departing, going back to the nurse at the reception to pay the fees before taking his seat again. He took out his phone, firing some terse messages to Stephen about the incident.

_Zero’s getting some teeth pulled out. We should talk about custody. Drop me a line. If you’re not dead, a lot of people will be angry, for a lot of reasons._

A few minutes later, after the worst of it had left him, he added in the long string of messages:

_For fuck’s sake, Stephen, we miss you_

And maybe it was a little rich for him to have that kind of sentiment when he hadn’t seen Bucky lately, which meant he couldn’t speak for him really, but he knew Bucky would feel the same way. As much as Stephen drove everyone nuts, Bucky and Darcy had never stopped caring about him.

Steve stayed in his chair, seeing people come and go. A Border Collie gave him a thorough sniff on the way through, and he got to give it a few rubs on its back.

He kept checking Twitter, answering questions in his mentions for the hell of it. He didn’t mind. He wanted to wait for Zero, since he’d been there for Steve while he wrote. He made the solitude of work that much more bearable. He remembered the first time he met him, gathering him in his arms like a baby when he drank tequila shots. He’d never met an animal like him before.

He didn’t think he’d care this much about a pet. He was staring at a poster about customizable labels for pet collars when his phone began to buzz in his pocket. His battery had dwindled to less than ten percent, which he regretted once he saw Eric was calling him.

“Hey,” he murmured, getting up. He ducked out into the street, feeling the night air hit him. “I’m sorry about before –”

“Shut up, alright?” Eric interrupted. He sighed. “You did nothing wrong. I’m just a grumpy old man.”

“You’re not that grumpy,” Steve murmured, feeling his stomach flutter.

God, he was so in love.

“I got scared. I haven’t known you that long,” Eric said. “But I want to keep knowing you, I want to be around you. I can’t get you out of my head, either.”

Steve looked at the ground, not wanting to say anything to jeopardize it.

“I can’t meet them just yet,” he said, and Steve tried to not feel bad about it. “I need time to – to begin changing. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Are you going to leave Jasper?” Steve asked.

The silence between them seemed to stretch on and on. He knew it would mean so much pain for Eric to endure if he meant to actually separate from his husband.

“I’m telling you I need time to get there, but I’m… I’m hoping I’ll get there. Despite what my better judgment is telling me…”

“What’s it tellin’ you?”

“God,” Eric whispered, and it seemed more to himself, like him acknowledging Steve had shaved when they saw one another at the gallery. He sounded overcome.

“I’d carry it for you, if I could,” Steve said. He meant the burden of Eric’s pain. He bit his lip. “If you let me.”

“Where are you?” Eric asked, and Steve was brought back to the present, glancing around.

“Uh, the vet hospital on Franklin,” he said. “Zero’s sick.”

He didn’t hear Eric’s response and he pulled his phone away, cursing to himself when he realize it had gone dead.

He went back inside, sitting down in his chair.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake an hour later. He glanced up, seeing Eric standing above him, smiling.

“Hey.”

He rose, pulling him into a tight hug.

-

Bucky answered the door, and Steve lifted up the cheesecake he’d brought in the plastic container, Bucky’s brows lifting.

“Hey, man.”

There was a lot left unsaid, simply because Steve didn’t know where to begin. He wasn’t going to lie, or give some half-hearted explanation, and Bucky didn’t seem to push. He looked different, his hair longer, and he’d put on weight in the last couple of months.

Steve pulled him into a hug that Bucky returned. He was the first one to pull away, taking the cake from Steve.

“Thanks, this is enough for me, I dunno what you and Darce are gonna eat.”

“The fuck are they doin’ to you?” Steve returned, shoving Bucky’s side.

“Tryin’ to get me up to two-hundred,” Bucky muttered.

They wandered down the hallway and Steve shook his head.

“Jesus. You know you’ll never be taller than me, either way.”

“Yeah, weird how life turns out,” Bucky muttered.

Steve tried not to read into that too much, since he’d just got there. He didn’t want to project his anxiety about his relationship with Bucky changing since he came out to Darcy.

 _You’re a coward_ , came that same voice that told him he couldn’t be free. It was the same voice he heard when his mother was dying, when he was getting beaten up in middle school and beyond.

He’d tried being straight. He wasn’t, so it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t going to stay in the closet any longer.

They walked into the kitchen, where Darcy was feeding Nats in her high chair.

“Hey,” she said, bursting into that infectious grin.

She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and hugged him, while Nats began to grizzle. Darcy handed him the bowl of apple sauce she was holding, with the little plastic spoon for feeding her, and he stooped a little so his eyes were level with Nats to feed her.

Bucky went to the fridge, taking out a beer and uncapping it bare-handed like he always did, holding up one for Steve.

“You want one?”

“Yeah.”

He fed Nats while Darcy leaned against the bench beside him. Bucky was on his phone, drinking his beer in silence. Darcy nudged him at one point.

“You with this?”

“Yeah, alright,” Bucky muttered, and he tucked his phone away, tipping back the rest of his beer.

He retrieved another one, as well as a shot of bourbon, leaving the bottle beside his elbow as he listened to Steve talk about writing for weeks on end.

“It’s so repetitive,” he murmured, rubbing his eyes.

“Try playing him for four months straight,” Bucky muttered. He swallowed more bourbon, chasing it with beer. “Why couldn’t you write that he stays at home all day, or somethin’?”

Steve sensed he was bristling, and Darcy met his eyes for a fraction of a second.

“He’s meant to be a war vet, I thought it’d make sense if he was an actual soldier before he was captured.”

“When’s the script due? January?” Bucky muttered.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” Darcy cut in. “As much as I love the _Soldat_ , it’s a little beyond my current interest.”

She moved away, the room going quiet as she retrieved the roast chicken from the oven, examining it. It looked crisp.

“l’m gonna serve up,” she murmured. She looked at Buck. “Baby?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. He rubbed his eyes, and Steve recognized he was drunk. “I’ll set the table.”

He did so, while Steve picked up Nats, hoping she wouldn’t start crying like she was prone to doing when he was left with her. She was looking up at him with curiosity for once, her hand wrapping around his nose.

“You stealin’ that?” he murmured. He stuck out his tongue and she grinned at him.

They sat down in front of the TV, while Nats played on the floor. They were halfway through the meal before Darcy finally asked Steve:

“So, who’s this guy you’ve been seeing?”

Steve looked over at her, feeling himself blush. He never tended to do that in their company. He ducked his head, looking at his pile of mashed potatoes, fiddling with his fork.

“He’s a photographer. His name’s Eric,” he murmured. He looked at Darcy again, who’d smiled at him eagerly. “Uh, his name’s Eric Hernández.”

Darcy’s mouth fell open and she dropped her fork, the cutlery clattering. Bucky had reacted slightly slower, but was nonetheless surprised.

“ _That_ Eric?” Darcy said, as Bucky muttered:

“You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“What?” Steve said, feeling his cheeks burn. “Is it that surprising?”

“Good for you, Steve,” Darcy said, retrieving her fork and putting more food away, chewing. “He’s… I mean, he’s so hot.”

“You ever worked with him?” Steve asked, and Darcy shook her head, while Bucky shrugged.

“He’s phenomenal,” Darcy said. “That spread he did with the Kardashians –”

Bucky made a face, and Steve felt himself run to Eric’s defense on his behalf.

“He’s not really interested in that stuff, so much,” he said, shaking his head. “We met at the _Variety_ shoot a while ago.”

“He an asshole?” Bucky muttered, and Steve felt his face slacken. “I heard he’s an asshole.”

“I – I don’t think that’s fair,” Steve said carefully. “He just likes what he likes.”

“Primadonna,” Bucky murmured.

That was rich, coming from him. Steve felt a lick of anger and chose to push it back down. He’d been drinking, and Bucky was pissed off for whatever reason. He decided it wasn’t worth the energy arguing.

“He’s particular,” Darcy said. “Like Stephen. Was Zero feeling better today?”

He’d texted Darcy what had happened with Zero and the Brooklyn vet.

“Yeah, he was a little stoned with the anesthesia,” Steve said, feeling a chuckle he was grateful for bubble up. “Could barely walk straight, so he’s passed out on my couch right now.”

Bucky got up abruptly, and Steve froze. When he disappeared from sight, Darcy shrugged. Steve knew better – she was worried, but she was a good actor. He decided to follow Bucky, taking his plate with him and Darcy’s, finding Bucky pouring himself another shot.

“How are you, Buck?”

“Jolly,” he murmured, throwing back the amber liquor without a blink. He licked his lips. “My workout’s probably fucked for tomorrow, though.”

“Maybe you need a break, anyway,” Steve said, placing the plates in the sink, turning back to face him. “It’s a lotta pressure, the movie.”

“We went away, don’t you remember?” he grunted. “Me and the wife, went away after the convention…”

His sentence trailed off. Steve thought about taking the bottle away. Bucky pushed it aside, sighing.

“Eric’s married, right?” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Steve said. His guts twisted inexplicably.

“It ain’t easy,” Bucky went on, not looking his way. There were lines under his eyes, the tell-tale sign he’d been struggling to sleep again. “When you’re fuckin’ someone that’s married –”

“It’s not like that,” Steve said immediately. He didn’t want it cheapened that way, not even when Bucky was trashed and not meaning a lot of what he said.

There was a chance he’d forget this conversation ever happened.

“Okay,” Bucky said, going quiet. He didn’t sound sarcastic, just drained.

Darcy came in with Nats in her arms, breaking the silence.

“Night, Daddy,” she murmured, and Bucky moved to kiss Nats on the cheek goodnight.

Darcy turned to Steve and he did the same.

“Night, Uncle Stevie,” Darcy added.

She disappeared again and Bucky raked a hand through his hair, his knee starting to jiggle. Steve gestured to him.

“Buck.”

“I’m fine.”

“I want a hug,” Steve said, and he went toward him, pulling him close.

Bucky returned it, his grip so much weaker than Steve’s, but at least he didn’t turn him down. When Darcy returned to the kitchen, they’d separated, and she came to Bucky’s side.

“Let’s watch a movie.”

They sat on the couch, Darcy between them, her head resting on Bucky’s shoulder. It was an Italian one and Steve was distracted, texting Eric about how messy Bucky was.

 _He needs time,_ Eric replied. Steve didn’t think it had anything to do with accepting Steve’s sexuality. Bucky had the same glazed expression on his face he got when he was in the throes of depression. It wasn’t something as juvenile as gay panic. At one point, Bucky got up and slipped outside to smoke a cigarette, not telling them to pause this movie.

“I’m sure he’s watched this one a dozen times,” Darcy murmured, when Steve picked up the remote.

When Bucky came back in, he looked a little brighter, slipping in beside Darcy.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat, murmuring to her:

“You wanna go to Italy?”

“Not at the moment,” she replied. “But one day, sure.”

It reminded Steve of the other times when Bucky had tried to get him to ditch class, or leave the city with him. He’d managed to get Steve to visit him in France when he was filming years ago, but even then he wanted to be elsewhere, to drop everything and leave. Steve wondered where that compulsion came from.

Suddenly, there was the familiar alert music for Skype, and Darcy’s brows skyrocketed. Steve glanced over to her laptop that sat open on the coffee table, and Darcy went to it, dropping to her knees and swiveling it around.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “It’s Stephen.”

“What?” Steve said, leaning forward.

Sure enough, he was calling Darcy. Or, whoever was using his account was. Steve thought his long-suffering assistant Debra was responsible, until Darcy accepted the request and Strange’s face flooded her screen.

“Stephen?” she said.

He looked different, but it was absolutely him. He had the same shrewd eyes and high cheekbones, the majority of his face covered in a thick beard, his head shaved messily. There were cuts on his scalp, like he’d been sheared with clippers.

“Darcy! And Steve! Is my Jack somewhere?”

Darcy motioned Bucky to join, and he scooted across the couch.

“What the fuck? Where are you?” Darcy asked, her eyes swiveling, assessing his surroundings like Steve was.

Strange’s background was only black and endless.

“I’m at home.”

“Since when?” Steve snapped.

“Two, maybe three weeks –”

“Are you – are you fuckin’ serious?” Steve said, just as Bucky passed a hand over his face, laughing with disbelief.

“Fuckin’ asshole…”

“I finally turned on my phone, Steve,” Strange went on, ignoring Bucky’s blatant insult. “I can pass on some money for Zero’s dentistry –”

“That’s fine, I covered it,” Steve said hastily. “Where have you been?”

“Mexico!” Stephen replied jovially, and Steve glanced at Bucky, their eyes meeting. Stephen didn’t seem to notice, addressing Darcy now. “Darling, you have to visit with me sometime. Granted, when I go, I tend to be referred to as ‘El Blotto’ within two hours of my arrival, but there are these lovely boutiques.”

“I missed you, Stephen!” Darcy said. “Did you write a script? What did you do this whole time?”

“Did you get _married_?” Bucky muttered, more to himself.

“No marriage. But I’m engaged,” Strange said, unaffected. “Her name is Serena but she’s asleep at the moment. We’re meeting up at a little place I have near Palms Springs…”

“Wait, so – wait,” Darcy said, holding up a hand. “You’re getting married again, but you sent these weird requests a while ago, about me wearing a wig for the next movie?”

“Well, _brainstorming_ ,” Strange replied. He took a pull on a joint, blowing smoke away from the camera, and Bucky sighed loudly, which Strange finally acknowledged. “Is he getting fat for those fuckers back in Hollywood?”

“I might turn in,” Bucky grunted, shifting in his seat to stand up, but Darcy shot him a look and he went still.

“Go ahead. But first,” Strange said, squinting among more smoke. “I want to invite you and Steve for a little retreat. Since we’re all being pulled in several directions –”

“What do you mean?” Bucky retorted. “You’ve had fuck-all employment for a year.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise,” Strange said. “We’ll get inspired. Relax. Hallucinate.”

Steve couldn’t think of a worse idea. He glanced at Darcy, watching for her reaction. She pressed her lips together, thinking.

“How long would it be?” she asked eventually.

“You can’t be serious,” Steve whispered, and Strange began to chuckle.

“Two days or two years, there’s a lot to catch up on. But my writing team only, Darcy. I’m sorry.”

He didn’t sound the slightest bit sorry, but they were all used to it.

That was typical Strange. He had a habit of disappearing and coming back with all types of stories, some horrifying, but all wildly entertaining just the same.

“Steve,” Strange said, and Steve met his eyes.

“What.”

“You want write all the time, or be part of a real story?”

Steve paused to blink, let his eyes move back to Bucky, and crossed his arms. As if reading his mind, Bucky said:

“You want a shot of bourbon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's finally a chapter count! Thank you for reading. I love you so, so much for sticking with this. ❤
> 
> P.S. Not to be dramatic but I'd die for Zero the cat
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4bdXFRdxuhkHGriOk5xz?si=zTrIh8OvTb6rKhwpPss8Pw)  
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	14. Part Fourteen: Off-White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please be mindful of the tags, there is a general content warning for miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide and drug abuse.**

_He's a lover_   
_Not a fighter_   
_But he's gone_   
**_-_ "Always Boys" by Big Deal**

_There's a place around my heart that you wish for_   
_When you pretend its never there_   
_What are you living for?_   
**\- "Clean" by Pete Yorn & Scarlett Johansson**

**Part Fourteen: Off-White**

Steve traveled alone.

He took a flight to L.A., met with the creative consultant Patsy and handed over his first draft of the script. It wasn’t due for a couple months, but he knew it would mean doing a lot of revising in the meantime. It was highly likely RKB would raise some concerns that Steve could either accommodate for or argue against. He hadn’t decided yet how unyielding he’d be, but the longer he knew Eric, the more he knew what he wanted.

It was two days. He kept reminding himself of that as he left RKB, signing a form that declared it was his only copy of the script and that he’d be responsible if it somehow leaked to the press. He’d left his laptop in Brooklyn deliberately, trying to abide by the advice that Eric gave him at breakfast earlier that day.

“Leave it. It’ll be like a reset button,” Eric murmured, their noses brushing.

They were naked, Eric curled around him and kissing his face. It didn’t stop Steve from worrying, because Eric hadn’t seen Bucky and how low he already seemed.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured back.

He and Eric had sex before Steve left for the airport. It began with kisses and smiles, but soon turned urgent. It caught Steve off-guard, the way Eric gripped him and chased him up and down for kisses.

“You okay?” Steve panted afterwards, a sheen of sweat on both of them, his own chest sticky from Eric’s release. His lips brushed Eric’s hairline as he spoke, and he felt him nod.

“Hmmm…”

Steve showered and checked his bags were packed, while Eric redressed and watched him. Steve had given him a key so he could feed Zero while he was away. He’d chosen to give Darcy a break, since she’d already have enough to worry about with Nats all to herself.

When he arrived in LAX, all he’d been thinking about was what Eric said as he was leaving:

“I’ve got more to say when you get back. But not yet.”

It was in-between kisses and a hug. Steve knew it was ridiculous to miss him that much, when he’d only be gone two days.

“I’ll call you later,” he replied, smiling at him. His stomach never stopped fluttering.

Bucky picked him up from outside RKB, driving a hired car with his dark sunglasses on, a cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Hey,” Steve said, as he shut the door behind him once he slipped into the passenger seat.

He stowed his bag in the backseat behind him, and Bucky pulled off from the curb. Steve knew there was no way Bucky would go inside that building without Wanda or his lawyer May Parker present. Although he was currently on their books, he still didn’t trust them, and Steve wasn’t going to push him into meeting him inside the building instead of outside in the street.

The address Stephen gave them was in Palm Desert. Steve looked up the building a few days ago, after finally agreeing to meet with him and Bucky for their little getaway.

The car was a white Kia Seltos, capable of dealing with whatever terrain Stephen’s property had. From what Steve had seen online, it was in the middle of a gated community on the side of a hill, and Stephen would have paid around 9 million for it, not that Steve thought it was worth it.

It had six bedrooms, a pool and a spa. With all that space, it didn’t seem they’d be under one another when they arrived.

The drive was quiet. Bucky seemed deep in thought, listening to music on the radio and steadily working his way through a pack of cigarettes with his window open. At one point, when Steve glanced up from his phone after answering some emails, he glanced at the landscape.

“Stephen said it would be cooler weather,” he said.

“He’d say this is unseasonable,” Bucky muttered, exhaling through the corner of his mouth away from Steve.

Steve couldn’t help chuckling.

When they arrived, Bucky parked at the bottom of the driveway, and they stepped out to look around. Steve could barely make out Stephen’s neighbors. As the sun beat down on them, Steve rose a hand to shield his eyes, squinting at the figure that appeared at the top of the driveway.

Strange rose a hand to wave and Steve returned it silently. Bucky took out a cigarette and cupped the flame of his lighter from the wind, bending his head to light it and take a long drag.

He and Steve exchanged a glance.

“When do you think he started?” Steve muttered.

“Probably never stopped,” Bucky returned. “Come on.”

They took out their bags and began to walk up. As they reached Strange, Steve could smell his usual patchouli and weed aura. His beard was just as untidy, overwhelming his face. Steve put out a hand for him to shake.

“Steve.”

“Stephen,” he replied. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“It’s just me now,” the Brit replied, his accent switching back and forth. “Serena left this morning.”

“Oh -?”

Bucky cut in. “For good?”

“For better, for worse,” Strange replied, shrugging a shoulder. He wore a stained, off-white robe over his bare chest.

He didn’t seem that badly affected by it all, and Steve sometimes envied that about Strange. He supposed he’d have to be used to disintegrating relationships because of the sheer number of them. He didn’t seem to ever want to slow down or be truly alone.

He showed them the house. Bucky was interested in the pool, disappearing when the tour was over to change while Steve hung back with Strange, watching the sun begin to set in the distance.

“Zero’s fine,” he said, breaking a pause in conversation. Strange’s brows went up slightly.

“He doesn’t miss me?”

“I hope he doesn’t,” Steve said, unable to stop himself. He wondered how long it would take him to confront Strange about his cat. It turned out to be no time at all. He was sure that he hadn’t even been there an hour.

“You can keep him,” Strange said. “I miss him, but… maybe it’s better he’s with you.”

“What did you do the whole time?” Steve asked.

Bucky reappeared, wearing a pair of dark swimming trunks, peeling off his t-shirt from earlier, dropping it on the back of a lounge chair as he moved past them and out to the pool.

Strange watched Bucky take a seat at the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in, before he glanced their way and flipped them off. Strange chuckled, distracted.

“Tried writing. Tried drinking,” he murmured. “Met a few people. Did a few ayahuasca stints, which I don’t remember too well…”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Steve muttered, and Strange smirked.

“What about you? Getting roped into RKB… did you promise them your first born?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who’d plunged into the water and disappeared for several seconds before he breached the surface again, pushing his wet hair back.

“Darce got me that job,” he said. “She dropped my name.”

Strange offered him something to drink and he followed him into the kitchens, which were all granite surfaces and shiny, new appliances, hardly what Steve expected a creative type like Strange to have. It seemed all very pristine and perfect, not at all lived-in.

They settled by the pool, and it was only a matter of time before Strange was up and returning with supplies, plastic pouches and devices that had Steve staring, but Bucky seemed undeterred.

Bucky swam to the pool’s edge, leaning on it with his broad forearms, his nose dripping.

Steve decided to stick with beer, sitting in his deckchair as he watched Bucky roll a Backwood with quiet precision, cutting it with a little pair of scissors and then light it as he stuck it between his teeth.

Bucky tossed the lighter aside and pushed back from the edge and floated on his back in silence while Strange made himself a martini at the little bar behind Steve.

Steve made himself a sandwich once the sun had disappeared, eating as Strange talked to Bucky about movies and what Bucky had been watching lately.

“Why does everyone think you’re _cool_?” Strange drawled, and Bucky snickered. “If anyone needs a Criterion copy of something, you’ve got it –”

“Buck’s always been a dork,” Steve added, and he was rewarded with a little splash of water, some drops managing to reach his bare foot.

Bucky flicked ash onto the pool’s edge and took another deep drag and held it, his voice tight as he said:

“We supposed to come up with a movie while we’re out here?”

He exhaled, and Steve could see he was looser than before. He wondered when Bucky was stoned last. Probably before Natalie was born. He hadn’t seen him drunk before the other day, either, since he’d married Darcy.

“I thought,” Strange said.

Bucky exchanged a glance with Steve.

“You’re the writer, not me.”

They all knew Bucky helped co-write the screenplay for _Brooklyn Baby_. He’d gone uncredited, but the Oscar nomination was just as much his as theirs. It reminded of every time Bucky said he wasn’t smart in school with his ridiculous GPA score.

“You got ideas?” Steve countered.

Bucky held his gaze, puffing away, a smirk forming. He moved to pass it to Steve, who hesitated. He finally got up from his chair, taking the Backwood and took a drag.

His throat burned and he coughed, taking another drag, slower. He held it, still coughing as he passed it back.

All they did was talk for a couple hours, the three of them, like they used to when they wrote together. Steve felt his high dissipate within half an hour, but he was getting steadily tipsy the further they went, feeling warm and sleepy with it.

They moved into the living room with a sloping view, the walls all floor to ceiling windows, and Bucky helped himself to more weed to smoke.

Strange’s eyes were black as he went on and on about an anti-Western, whatever that was. Steve tried to concentrate, but was distracted by Bucky getting up and playing with the stereo until music filled the air, and then he was dancing alone with a joint in his mouth.

“If you ash on my rug…”

Bucky ignored Strange, but didn’t make a mess. He seemed surprisingly lucid to Steve. There was no clumsiness to his movements. He was slower, but he wasn’t awkward with his balance.

Steve and Strange were on the floor by the coffee table, as Bucky spun slowly on the spot to Sonic Youth.

“You seeing anyone?” Strange asked, and Steve looked up from his phone, midway through texting Eric.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “It’s Eric Hernández.”

He supposed the liquor had made him bolder, or at least, less self-conscious. He didn’t look at Bucky as he said this, but he was sure he could hear him from his spot by the stereo.

He watched as Strange went through a series of emotions. He was stunned, then tilted his head to ponder the name, then pursed his lips together and nodded.

“Interesting.”

“Why, why’s that interestin’?” Steve said, a little too fast.

“Latino. Married. Post-modern Gen-X fashion photographer.”

Strange took a sip of his martini.

“Where did you meet?”

“ _Variety_ shoot. I didn’t make the cover, but he shot me in a studio in Manhattan back in August…”

The song filled the silence that followed, and Steve didn’t know where to look, in case Strange was about to be tactless. He took a swig of his beer and waited.

Steve finally let out an uncomfortable laugh.

“Don’t try to pin a narrative on this, Stephen,” he said.

“I’m just wondering a few things,” Strange retorted.

The song had changed over to Portishead and Bucky was still swaying alone, smoking in silence. Steve felt his face flush.

“Did you… I mean, were you ever in love with him?”

Strange asked this as he moved a little closer to Steve, lowering his voice. His eyes swung over to Bucky pointedly, and Steve frowned.

“No. Never.”

“It’s fine if you did, since you’ve obviously moved on,” Strange said, and Steve let out a groan. “There is quite a lot of subtext there, if you think about it.”

To Steve’s surprise, Bucky piped up:

“Not everything is homoerotic, Stephen.”

He turned toward them, his joint glowing between his lips. He took it out, exhaling.

“And if I was gay, you’d hear all about it,” he said, with a cockiness Steve hadn’t seen in years. “I’d get the most ass, you both know it.”

Steve looked at Strange when Bucky had turned his back again.

“Yeah, he’s not really helping when he says that,” Strange said. “Without a shirt, too.”

“I’m not gay,” Steve said. “I’m just not straight.”

Stephen rolled his eyes dramatically, placing his martini glass on the table.

“God, don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘I don’t do labels’ blokes.”

Steve frowned. “I just think it sounds dramatic when I say ‘bisexual’. Like, _okay_ … _whatever_ …”

Strange began to laugh, closing his eyes. “You sound… _so_ Catholic.”

Steve lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the music. Every so often, he heard Bucky click his fingers or scuff on the carpet.

Strange cleared his throat.

“You a top or a bottom?”

“Jesus,” Steve whispered, laughing in spite of his face being on fire. “I will not answer that.”

“I’m going to have to make assumptions, then,” Strange teased.

“What makes you think I’d _ever_ answer that?” Steve whispered.

“I thought maybe you were drunk enough.”

Steve chuckled some more, closing his eyes. “Nope.”

He missed Eric. He hadn’t seen him drunk before. He wished he was there so he could hug him, tuck him by his side and kiss his face, breathe in the scent of his skin.

He woke on his side, hearing Bucky arguing with Strange about something, and he sat up, seeing Bucky had moved onto a tumbler of vodka, the ice clinking as he lifted the glass to his lips.

“What’s wrong with her wearing a wig, for cryin’ out loud? She’s done it a million times before. They’re getting better with the believability –”

“Do I need to pay extra to entice her to bleach her hair?” Strange drawled.

They must be talking about Darcy. Steve knew she’d do next to anything for a movie, she’d proven that before.

Steve rubbed his eyes and Bucky scoffed.

“Christ. She’d do it for nothin’ and you know that. Just let her wear a wig. She doesn’t want to wreck her hair for your fuckin’ aesthetics…”

“Not all of us can sell-out when it suits,” Strange snapped. “Some of us feel themselves die a little inside every time they do it.”

“Well, zippity-doo-dah!” Bucky said, throwing his arms wide, his drink spilling.

He was drunk. It was something Steve had only ever heard Judith say many times before whenever Bucky gave her lip.

Bucky tilted his head, his lips curled in a cruel sneer.

“You wanna know why you keep gettin’ divorced?”

Steve must have missed that part of the conversation when he was asleep.

Bucky yelled:

“Because you keep getting _fucking married!”_

Steve’s lips parted, and he thought he should step in, try to slow down whatever was unfolding. Before he could intervene, he saw Strange smile in the corner of his eye.

“Now, now, Bucky,” he murmured. “Tell me how you _really_ feel.”

“Stop, stop,” Steve said, putting up and hand, his other one pushing his hair back. “Just take a second. We’ve overdone it a little –”

Bucky was pacing as he said this, ignoring Steve’s voice, or maybe it genuinely wasn’t registering. Steve couldn’t sure. Bucky began to laugh in a nasty way, shrugging elaborately as he spoke to Strange:

“You wanted us to come back to write a movie, why? Nobody cares.”

Strange let out a little mirthless laugh, folding his arms.

Bucky emptied his glass in one gulp, and then he was off to the races.

“Nobody cares about your themes, or your philosophical bullshit. All you’ve ever done is tell the industry how much you don’t care about their approval.”

He waved his empty hand around.

“You negged the entire Academy into accepting you. And it’s all bullshit, it’s not about art. It’s about money,” he went on. “Call it what it is, you’re a junkie with a computer.”

Steve looked at Strange, and saw his face had turned to stone, but it didn’t deter Bucky.

“You’re like one of those fuckin’ chimps in front of a typewriter, churnin’ out this shit…”

Bucky moved to the coffee table and picked up a joint and a lighter, sparking it and taking a drag.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s bullshit, but it’s fine,” he said. He hit his chest. “And I’m not any better. Matter of fact, I’m worse – I’m –I’m mentally fuckin’ ill and I’m here because I managed to win some gene lottery –”

He gestured vaguely to his face.

“- and I can deliver a line.”

He took a drag, his eyes a little wider, and Steve saw his chin quiver for a second.

“And I got Darcy and Nats, but… fuck, that’s all bullshit, too, huh? My ego. My fuckin’… bullshit legacy…”

Steve had felt his stomach turn to lead some time ago, when he first woke up and heard how angry Bucky was. He knew it went beyond the jibes he had with Strange, and it went beyond being high or drunk.

“Better off…”

“No, no,” Strange said, and Steve stared at him again, seeing his eyes flash with anger. “Once again, from the top, Mister Barnes. Once more, with feeling.”

Bucky bristled, spat the joint out and went straight for Strange.

_“You fucking cunt!”_

“Stop it!” Steve yelled, lunging for Bucky to rip him away from Strange on the floor. “Bucky, stop! Stop it!”

“He’s getting all his aggression out, it was only a matter of time,” Strange sneered. “Then he can have a fistful of pills and a lie down…”

Bucky punched his nose, and Steve managed to wrap his arms around his middle, trying to pull him back.

“Bucky!”

“Get off me, punk! I’m doin’ what everyone else wants to do, they just kiss his ass instead –”

“Think about Darcy, Buck,” Steve retorted, straining. “He’s her friend, too.”

“He is _not_ my friend!”

Steve grunted with the effort, managing to separate them, Strange’s nose a bloody mess, and he pinned Bucky to the floor, the three of them panting.

“Stop –”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” Bucky asked, his voice breaking. “Huh? Do you know what that was like, hearin’ my wife tell me that about you? Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? Where the fuck were you?”

Steve felt like he’d been hit over the head with his shame and pulled back, Bucky scrambling to his feet.

“Buck,” he said, his voice weak. “I’m sorry…”

 _Nowhere To Run_ was playing as Steve sat back on his heels and Bucky went to pick up the vodka bottle that stood open on the coffee table. He put it to his lips and drank with ease, Steve’s guts twisting at the sight of how unbothered Bucky was by the damage he was doing by chugging that much.

He wiped the back of his mouth, picking up the stray joint and relighting it. Strange was holding his nose with a cupped hand, glaring up at Bucky.

Bucky took a drag, and there was a loud whirring of someone’s phone.

“It’s…”

Bucky stared at his phone for a few seconds, then unlocked it, putting it against his ear.

“Hey.”

Steve got to his knees as Bucky turned away to talk, moving toward Strange, hovering.

“You reckon it’s broken?” he asked, and Strange shrugged.

He thought about towels, or something for the pain. There was plenty of ice he could put in a cloth for Strange. He moved to do just that when Bucky’s phone was thrown aside. He snatched the vodka bottle up and stalked off, and Steve stood up, calling after him.

“Buck?”

“She’s still on the line,” Strange said quietly, wincing as he sat up, reaching for the phone on the floor.

Steve swiped it from him, putting it to his ears, hearing Darcy’s frantic voice on the other end.

“Darce, it’s me, what happened? He’s drunk, he’s – he’s high –”

“I’m at the hospital,” she said, and he could hear the beeps, the sounds of people around her.

He stopped dead.

“What, is it Nats, is she okay?”

Darcy sounded like she was in tears but trying not to show it.

“I had a miscarriage, I left Nats with Judie. I’m okay.”

“Darcy…”

He didn’t know. Christ, he didn’t know his closest friends were even trying for a new baby. He felt his throat tighten.

“I’m okay, but Bucky’s – Steve, don’t leave him by himself –”

_Fuck._

Steve took off, running through the house, calling out for Bucky but hearing no reply. He told Darcy he’d call her back, as he dashed through each bedroom, with no sign of Bucky.

He saw a figure through one of the windows making its way down toward the rental car and he ran back out, through the hallway and out into the night.

“Bucky! Bucky, wait –”

“I’m goin’ back, you can’t stop me…”

“You’re drunk, you can’t drive,” Steve said, reaching his side.

It was a marvel that Bucky managed to stand at all, with hardly any of the bottle left, plus all that weed he smoked, and the beers, and anything else Steve might have missed.

“Stop, Buck, stop,” he begged, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “Please stop…”

Bucky threw a punch but Steve grabbed his arm and tackled him to the pavement, the bottle clattering on the ground and rolling, Bucky groaning beneath him.

“I fucking hate you,” he whispered, and Steve winced, knowing he didn’t mean it.

“No,” he murmured, squeezing him in a tight hug. “You can’t leave right now.”

“I asked her,” he slurred, and Steve pulled back a little to look him in the eye, and saw Bucky was tearing up. “I asked her to try for another baby. She was eight weeks. She told me to take a break, so I did… fuckin’ A-plus timin’, as always…”

He reached for the vodka bottle and put it to his lips before Steve could stop him, gulping some more without even blinking.

“What’re you doin’, Buck?” Steve whispered.

“I’m gonna drink myself to death,” he replied, smiling up at him, before his face slackened, his eyes dead.

Steve let out a sigh, his head dropping, and he moved back, sitting on the ground beside him. He could see Bucky’s hands and elbows were scraped from the concrete beneath him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Steve felt a new wave of guilt at the damage he’d caused.

Bucky finished the bottle and looked at it, frowning.

“I’ll need more.”

“No, you won’t,” Steve said, unable to keep the scorn from out of his tone. “What about Darce? Or Nats?”

“Fuck you, you’re not a father,” Bucky replied instantly. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Then… then fucking _tell_ me,” Steve said, locking eyes with him. “Tell me somethin’ about how you feel."

“People never know what to say, ‘cause it’s all so goddamn sad,” Bucky muttered. “People wanna tell me I’ll be missed –”

“I _would_ miss you,” Steve snarled. “ _I would_ miss you –”

“The truth is, I wanna die all the time, and I hate all of ya for makin’ me stick around,” Bucky said, and his gaze was steadier than Steve expected. “I stay alive for everyone else.”

Steve knew he was in pain. He was sure Bucky had been in pain his whole life.

“I don’t think there’s a Heaven,” he added. “I know I’m not gonna join my pops in the sky. It’s oblivion and it’s a fuckin’ comfort to me, and I mean that.”

Steve could feel tears falling but he didn’t swipe them away. Bucky swallowed, a little smile forming.

“Buck…”

“Darce’s better off,” he said. “Weight off her goddamn shoulders. She can get a husband that’s not a piece of shit. I don’t live the right way. Sure as shit don’t love the right way.”

Steve didn’t know what to say. Bucky was right about one thing – it was all really sad. He felt as if whatever he said would be rebuffed. It was obvious that Bucky was in a type of delusion, amplified by alcohol and his own dark mood, and Darcy’s awful news had pushed him over the edge.

“I love you,” Steve said.

“Steve –”

Bucky sounded like he meant to dismiss him, but Steve pushed on.

“I love you. I love you the most,” he said. “You’re the one I love the most.”

Bucky closed his eyes, and a couple tears trickled down. He bit his lip.

“Can we go inside?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed.

He stood up, helping Bucky stand, taking him by the elbow to walk him back up to the house.

“I love you, too, Stevie,” he murmured, and Steve looked at him, his eyes stinging.

Inside, Bucky kissed his cheek, breaking away. Steve watched him walk down the hallway, and he followed him. He didn’t know how he was meant to help repair what had happened with Stephen before. As if sensing this, Bucky cleared his throat, murmuring in a low voice as they spotted Strange outside smoking:

“I’ll talk to him. I just need to take a leak.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bucky wasn’t walking that well but he seemed to be managing by leaning against a wall, and then moved into a bathroom, meeting Steve’s eyes for a fraction of a second before shutting it behind him.

Steve waited, hearing Bucky lift the toilet seat and start to pee and he moved away from the door to give him privacy, walking back outside.

“You okay?” he asked Strange, whose beard was covered with blood.

“Yeah,” he rasped, pulling on his Juul and squinting up at Steve.

He tapped the back of his chair, then decided he should say what happened, to give context.

“Uh, Darce had a miscarriage, she’s at the hospital…”

“What?” Strange said, and he was up from his chair. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know, either,” Steve muttered. The guilt was making him feel nauseous. “Bucky’s –”

“Is he in the loo?” Strange asked, and Steve nodded. “Which one?”

The panic felt like someone had taken something sharp and run it up from Steve’s abdomen to his throat, and he spun back around, racing toward the closed door. He pounded on it with a fist.

“Buck. Buck, open up.”

He went for the doorknob in vain, as Strange reached his side.

“What’s in the cabinet?”

“A lot,” Strange said.

“Christ –”

They shouldn’t have come. Steve should have taken the time to spend it one-on-one with Bucky at home, somewhere safe and known to them, something without variables or substances. He should have told Eric more, and then he wouldn’t have been encouraged to leave New York.

Steve slammed his shoulder into the door. He remembered Bucky doing the same for him once, when Sarah had that seizure twenty years ago. It didn’t budge, but he tried again.

“God-fuckin’- _damn it!”_ he yelled, and then he kicked it as hard as he could with a yell, and there was a crack as it smacked open, Steve’s eyes falling to Bucky.

Strange was behind him, and Steve yelled out.

“Call 911.”

Bucky’s eyes were closed and he was sweating and slumped over, bottles on the floor, with pills scattered on the tiles. The reason he hugged Steve close before was now so clear.

He meant to say goodbye.

“No, no, no,” Steve whispered, taking hold of Bucky’s face, slapping him, shaking his shoulders.

He picked up a bottle. It had Strange’s name on it. So did the others, all different types of medication. Vicodin, Excedrin, Percocet, Xanax…

“Come on, Buck.”

He hoisted him over to the toilet and lifted the lid, pushing Bucky’s hair back and slapped his face some more.

“You need to throw up…”

He tried to stick his fingers down his throat, and Bucky retched, his hands weak as they tried to peel Steve’s fingers away.

Steve’s head whipped toward Strange who’d come back in, holding his own phone.

“Ambulance is on the way –” Strange stopped, looking down at the floor, at all the pills. “Oh, Christ.”

Bucky had gone limp and Steve strained, trying again to make him sick, but he was unresponsive, slipping away from him.

“He might need Naloxone,” Strange said, and Steve glanced back at him.

“Help me move him.”

They managed to walk him out of the bathroom, his arms slung over their shoulders, his feet dragging. Steve could hear the siren.

“I had to tell them who it was,” Strange said, as they saw the ambulance weaving in the distance toward them.

It took a second for the words to sink in, and Steve frowned.

“Does that really matter?”

“They might give him a 5150,” Strange added. “Involuntary psychiatric hold.”

“They can’t do that,” Steve said.

He knew, without a doubt, that Bucky wouldn’t thrive in a psych ward holding him against his will, and there was no way in Hell that Steve was letting that happen to him.

“If they know it’s James Barnes they’re trying to hold, then they might release him early,” Strange said. “It’s 72 hours, but if his lawyer hears about it, or fuck, even RKB…”

“They don’t care about him, they’ll be glad to see him gone,” Steve whispered, and he cupped Bucky’s cheek. “Buck…”

When the paramedics arrived, everything happened so fast, and Steve couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t answer their questions – he had no idea how much he’d taken. He only could say he polished off the bottle of vodka and the several beers he’d had earlier.

“He’s stopped breathing,” the female paramedic said, her partner taking out a syringe.

Steve clung to Bucky’s hand, until he was told to step back.

“Sir, we need –”

Steve stumbled back, balling his hands into fists as he watched them try to put his best friend back together. He felt Strange grip his shoulder and hit gnawed his lip.

“Breathing’s stabilized,” the male paramedic said, and Steve felt relief like nothing else – he took a deep breath, feeling light-headed with it.

He asked if he could go, and piled into the ambulance with Strange left behind. The female paramedic was sitting with Bucky, the mask on his face, the vehicle swaying in a sickening away, and Steve longed for a few hours ago, when they were together in the car.

He should have told him sorry then. He should have told him how he can’t live without him, not really – he was only pushing him away because he was scared, and it wasn’t his fault. He was scared Bucky wouldn’t accept him, that maybe he was like the other Brooklyn boys they grew up with.

He’d been so unfair, so stupid. Bucky had never been anything but loving, and Steve had fucked it all up.

“Frank, how much further?”

“Two minutes,” came the reply, and Steve kept his eyes on Bucky’s closed eyes.

“Should you call his wife?” she asked, and Steve nodded vaguely, fumbling for his phone in his pocket.

They arrived at the hospital and there was a team waiting for them – Steve supposed they called ahead with Bucky’s name raising a few eyebrows, and maybe they had some kind of a procedure for celebrities. He stood aside as Bucky was wheeled down and out of side, and he was told he needed stay in the waiting room.

The female paramedic guided Steve to a chair and lowered herself slightly to meet his eye, because he was staring at the floor, his phone still locked in his hand.

“Sir? He’s got some fight in him,” she said, and he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I have to get back out there –”

“So go,” Steve retorted. He blinked at her. “Sorry. Thank you.”

He imagined her going straight to Twitter, if some intern hadn’t already. He dreaded the next several hours, waiting for an all-clear, with all this other shit on top of it.

He phoned Darcy first and went to Voicemail. He left a message telling her to call back. He didn’t want to leave the whole story on her phone. He phoned Judith, and missed her, too.

“Fuckin’ West Coast,” he hissed under his breath.

He phoned Wanda.

“Steve?”

“Buck’s overdosed, I’m waitin’ at the hospital,” Steve said.

He glanced around the waiting room, feeling self-conscious, but for the most part everyone seemed to be in their own little bubbles.

“Is it like when he flipped his Buick?” Wanda asked, her voice going flat.

“No, he – he really meant to hurt himself this time,” Steve mumbled. He sniffed. “Listen, I tried Darce and his mom already. I just need you to try to keep the roof over this if you can.”

“Are you okay?”

“It’s my fault,” he said, the words spilling out of their own accord. “Jesus, he told me he wanted to die, and I didn’t listen…”

“Steve –”

“I have to go. He’s at Barker Royal. Can you call his lawyer about him getting out as soon as possible? I don’t want anythin’ fuckin’ unconstitutional goin’ on.”

“Maybe it’s for his own good, Steve,” Wanda said.

“Nah,” he said, and he hung up, not wanting her to elaborate.

Darcy had tried calling. He got up from his seat, went outside, and called her back. He started to cry as he told the whole story, and Darcy had gone silent.

“Darce?”

“You said Barker? I’ll get there. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

He’d had a similar conversation with her once, in a time that felt like forever ago, when Bucky had shown up in Brooklyn after he drove across the country after dropping everything. The more he was remembering, the more Steve hated himself – how could he let this happen?

“He’s not gonna wanna see you,” Steve said. “I just want you to prepare for… for that.”

“I know. I know,” she said, her voice wobbling. She cleared her throat. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way. I’ll call when I’m landing, too.”

Steve passed a hand over his face.

“Steve, you should call Eric.”

He hung up, not before he said he loved her and that he was sorry, though she didn’t want to take his apology. He leaned against a wall outside, hearing an ambulance take off into the night.

It was well after midnight in New York, but Eric still picked up, sounding out of it.

“Steve?”

“I need to tell you somethin’.”

He could hear a soft meow and he realized Eric had stayed over at his place, Zero in the background, and he felt his stomach flip despite everything.

“Steve, baby…”

He’d started sobbing on the phone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you ❤
> 
> [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3M4bdXFRdxuhkHGriOk5xz?si=zTrIh8OvTb6rKhwpPss8Pw)  
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	15. Part Fifteen: Green

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤

_Like a wave that crashed and melted on the shore_  
 _Not even the burnouts are out here anymore_  
 _And you had to go_  
 _I know, I know, I know_  
\- "I Know The End" by Phoebe Bridgers

**Part Fifteen: Green**

Steve knew how fast word would spread. He’d anticipated a lot of what Bucky would refer to as ‘fuckin’ fuss’. Millions of dollars were at stake. People’s jobs could be on the line. A caterer in Hollywood might need to find another film in the New Year. A kid on Twitter would bitch about their franchise’s demise.

The truth was, it was the biggest story of the year unfolding in front of Steve’s eyes.

He sat in the waiting room, his eyes glued to the TV that showed the broadcast cutting their regular programming for breaking news. Steve had only been there fifteen minutes, after he hung up with Eric when he heard the news anchor announce:

_“Coming out of Palm Springs in California, we have breaking news. Actor James Barnes has been taking to hospital for a suspected drug overdose.”_

Steve didn’t blink, swallowing hard as a picture of Bucky at the Oscars with Darcy the year she won, smiling from ear. The camera cut to footage of Bucky at a red carpet event, posing in front of the _Brooklyn Baby_ film poster, with his hands deep in his suit pockets.

 _“This report comes in the early stages of the long-awaited_ Winter Soldier _prequel which was set to begin filming in February of next year…”_

Steve’s phone began to buzz in his hand and he glanced down finally, his eyes stinging. He saw it was Hope on the caller ID, and he let out a sigh, realizing he’d forgotten to warn her.

“Hey.”

“Are you okay? Are you at the hospital?” she asked, and he chewed his lip, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah. They’re not letting me be with him yet. I’m not takin’ that as a good sign –”

“Steve, are _you_ okay?”

“No,” he breathed. “And I know you’re probably dealing with RKB right now.”

“They told me they’re talking with Wanda, as well as me. They’re trying their best to come up with something to tell the media –”

“But it’s already out,” Steve said. “If you heard it before I told you, I can see it on the news.”

He gestured to it, though he knew she wasn’t there to see it.

“I can see it right in front o’ me, they’re sayin’ he’s overdosed –”

“This isn’t going to go away, not for days or weeks. When he flipped his car, that was bad, but this could mean insurance won’t cover him for the movie. You might be asked to step down.”

“I’m glad you’re concerned about your pay cut,” Steve snapped, and Hope fell silent for several seconds.

Steve knew he was being unfair. It was her job to make sure he kept a job, and she had asked how he was. He closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward.

“Steve, I’m sorry.”

As she apologized, Steve got up from his chair, stalking outside. He didn’t want any more eavesdropping, and it was highly likely someone from the ER had leaked the news Bucky was there. He watched the staff inside as Hope went on.

“I know I’m being insensitive, but I have to make sure at least that you’re not talking to anyone at RKB about this.”

“Why?” Steve asked, though he suspected what Hope was about to say.

“They wanna know what happened, why it happened, and who they can blame.”

Steve was to blame, since they never should have come here. He should have kept a better eye on Bucky, did as Darcy told him and not leave him alone.

“Tell me what happened, Steve. I want to know that you’re okay.”

He’d argued with Eric a little before, since he said Steve didn’t shove the pills down Bucky’s throat. He didn’t give him the bottle of vodka, either, or the weed, or the beers before that.

Hope drew in a breath, and Steve let her sentence lay there, untouched. He didn’t want to say, in case she made it her job to twist the words around, to lie to him that he should be absolved of all guilt. It was his negligence that caused this in the first place.

_Where were you?_

Steve was too busy trying to figure himself out instead of paying attention to what Bucky was going through. He wondered if there were signs Darcy had tried to cover up, or maybe he’d ignored them. The last time he saw him before this trip, he’d been drunk and pissed off, with that thousand-yard stare.

“If it’s Stephen Strange that gave Bucky anything, RKB could sue, possibly pull _Brooklyn Baby_ from their streaming service and sever all ties with the three of you.”

Steve blinked back his surroundings, saying in a flat voice before he could stop himself:

“Buck tried to kill himself.”

He knew Hope kept talking, probably attempted to console him, but her words were barely registering among the hospital sounds he could hear coming from inside. There was an ambulance siren and he told her he had to go. He knew he needed any excuse to drop the conversation. He wished it could be like before anyone ever knew Bucky’s name, his father’s name, and he could stay with him somewhere safe, discharge him into his care and work on looking after him.

He knew he didn’t have all the answers, he never did when they were kids, but bringing up work was the last thing anyone needed. He scrubbed his face and went back inside.

-

Wanda appeared with two cups of coffee, Strange beside her.

Steve took the coffee wordlessly as Wanda slipped in beside him and Strange remained standing, the three of them watching the TV.

Wanda copied Steve’s elbows on his knees, hunching over so she was at his level, her eyes glued to his face.

“How is he?”

“I dunno,” Steve replied.

Strange looked eerily sober, his face scrubbed of blood but his nose still looked swollen and red. His shrewd eyes narrowed at the crawling text across the screen.

Steve’s face itched from being under Wanda’s gaze and his eyes finally swung her way, his whole body beginning to ache. A female face, open and vulnerable like Wanda’s was didn’t help. He felt it cut him deep in his chest, right to his sternum. He was fucked if Judith showed up any time soon, and Darcy was probably going to make him want to keel over and die.

“RKB won’t stop calling me,” Wanda rasped, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand like a child as she sniffled. “So I turned it off, right after I told May Parker what happened.”

“It’s over,” Strange murmured, not looking their way. “It’s all over.”

“How can you say that?” Wanda snapped.

As far as Steve knew, these two barely knew each other, and it surprised him that Wanda was that fierce toward him.

“I didn’t say I would never hire him,” he retorted. “I just know we’re both through.”

“You’re worried about making movies right now? He almost _died!_ ” Wanda hissed. She balled her free hand into a fist. “Do you know what it took for him to do that to himself?”

“I do, actually,” Strange retorted. “My mother did the same when I was a child.”

Wanda’s mouth fell open and she blinked rapidly, her face flushing.

“I didn’t know…”

“I don’t talk about it, no-one in the family does,” Strange said, finally snapping his eyes to Wanda’s, narrowing them again. “And I’m talking about art, not making movies. Bucky only ever wanted to do one thing, and now he won’t be able to.”

“He shouldn’t be working,” Steve mumbled. “Not if he’s sick.”

“Oh,” Strange said, putting up a hand. “Guess that counts about 99 percent of the bloody industry out.”

He walked out, and they watched him go as he pulled out a Backwood not unlike the one Bucky rolled and cut only hours ago, the night feeling like days ago already. 

“Did you know about his mom?” Wanda murmured, and Steve shook his head.

“He doesn’t offer a lot about his life,” Steve murmured back.

Wanda gave a weak little smile. “Sounds familiar.”

“I don’t need that shit right now, Wan,” he whispered, shaking his head, causing her to snap her mouth shut and nod her head.

-

Wanda fell asleep between Strange and Steve, her head lulling as she leaned against Steve’s shoulder, her hand on his knee. It was after three when Steve’s phone began to buzz and he turned it over, checking to see if it was someone he’d prefer to ignore.

The news hadn’t changed during the cycle, and Steve hadn’t been able to doze at all. He shifted in his chair, as Strange murmured:

“Is it Darcy?”

Steve swallowed, nodding. He glanced over at Strange as the phone rang and rang, feeling his guts twist. The Brit’s eyes seemed to cloud, and he nodded back at him, before passing a hand over his face.

Perhaps the woman at Steve’s surprise birthday party months ago was right, when she said everyone was a little in love with Darcy. She was Strange’s muse, like so many women had been before, but she was different from the rest, entirely someone else’s. Steve wondered then if Strange lost sleep over it.

He finally unlocked his phone and put it to his ear, taking the call.

“Hey, so I’ve landed. I’m half an hour away, but it’s gonna be tricky with the media, my manager is on the phone with the hospital now –”

“Darce, he’s not woken up yet,” Steve cut in, as gently as he could manage.

“Yeah, well, I’m not waiting for that. I want to move him when I get there. Somewhere secluded, and we’ll have nurses and whatever else I can pay for that he needs.”

She was speaking in rapid-fire, her connection a little fuzzy.

“Okay,” Steve said, not wanting to argue.

They’d have plenty of time to do that when she arrived, which turned out to be only fifteen minutes later. Wanda sat up groggily, looking around.

“Go back to Stephen’s, Darce is comin’,” Steve whispered, holding up the text that read **_I’m getting snuck in._**

Steve needed to meet her upstairs, according to the next text. Wanda rose, looking up at Steve.

“I’ll stay.”

“No, you go,” he murmured, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

He kept wanting to touch her, seeking the comfort, and she patted his hand, her eyes welling with tears.

“I’m Nats’ godmother, I should stay.”

“I can update you,” Steve retorted. “Godfather to godmother. Please.”

She nodded, relenting, wiping her eyes and sniffling. Strange had got up, too, taking Steve’s hand to shake it.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said, and Strange shrugged.

He waved to them as they left, and he turned his heel to march on, down a corridor to the elevator. He hadn’t been upstairs the whole time, only going to the front desk to ask about the progress that no-one could properly update him on.

He shared the elevator with a couple nurses, both of them smelling of cigarettes, the scent he always associated with Bucky. When he reached his floor, he felt sick.

Everything smelt of antiseptic and he was reminded of his mother’s stays in hospitals. The lights were always so harsh, his skin looking white under them…

He reached the door halfway down the corridor, its door ajar as he rose to knock it gently.

“Come in.”

He obliged, pushing the door open as he stepped through, his hand falling to his side as he saw Darcy rising from her chair, his eyes falling to the shape under the covers beside her.

“Oh, Christ,” he whispered.

Steve had seen a dead body before, and it was hard to believe Bucky wasn’t one of them right now, and he had to make himself listen to the beeps of Bucky’s heart monitor.

Bucky’s handsome face was ghostly pale, with deep circles under his eyes. He wore a plain green smock, and had tubes for oxygen stuck in his nose, a band around his arm to check his blood pressure, an IV in his left hand.

“He’s in a coma,” Darcy said, and Steve looked at her.

“Sit down,” he whispered, but she flew to him instead, colliding with him in a tight hug.

She was possibly the only other person who could know how he felt. With her arms wrapped around his middle as Steve pressed a kiss to her forehead and stroked her hair, watching Bucky behind her.

They broke apart and Steve took the seat beside her, their hands joined as they watched the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest.

“I’m gonna talk to the doctor when they get back, the nurse went to find them,” Darcy murmured.

Steve didn’t think they’d plan on moving Bucky if he was in a coma. He didn’t say a word, not until the nurse returned, a middle-aged black woman that smiled at Steve when the doctor ignored everyone, moving toward Bucky’s bed to consult the chart.

“I’d like to talk to someone about moving my husband as soon as possible,” Darcy started, up from her chair.

“In a couple days, maybe,” the doctor replied, not looking up. “His heart rate is a concern.”

“Apart from the coma?” Steve said, and then man glanced their way absently, brows lifting a fraction.

“We’re doing the blood work, too, to see if his liver is damaged at all,” he replied. “I don’t care who he is, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Look,” Darcy said, changing her tone, her arms folding. “He hates hospitals. And it does matter who he is, he has special circumstances.”

“Oh, does his money make him a certain type of superhuman I’m not trained to treat, ma’am?” the doctor retorted. “In which case, please share.”

“Ma’am,” the nurse began, softer than the doctor. She rose a hand carefully. “We promise we’ll take special care of him, and we will let you know when you can transfer him.”

“I want him out of here right now,” Darcy snapped, and Steve stared at her, surprised. “And I don’t wanna be that girl, but don’t you know who I am?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “You’re Darcy Lewis, and you and your husband will probably sue the hospital for everything we’re worth when we’ve saved his life –”

“I didn’t say that,” Darcy said, her face flushing. She seemed to shrink, her eyes averting. “I’m sorry, he just hasn’t been well. I’d never do something like that, I-I’m sorry for that, I would never…”

“It’s fine, hon,” the nurse said, nodding, and Darcy shut her mouth. “Are you alright?”

The doctor was looking at her, too, frowning.

“Perhaps some coffee? Though I can’t say it’s particularly good,” he muttered.

Darcy shook her head and Steve couldn’t stand it, seeing someone do what he’d been doing for hours. From the outside it was painful to watch someone push aside their own suffering because they didn’t think it was important.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Darcy,” he said, and she ignored him.

She shook her head, moving back to sit down, but Steve spoke up.

“She had a miscarriage yesterday,” he said, and Darcy’s head whipped toward his, her eyes wider.

“STEVE!”

“You _did_ , and you should be resting,” he said, and he knew he was crossing a line, but it was important to him that she was safe.

She let out a harsh little laugh. “God, you’re unbelievable…”

The nurse said something about her getting a bed but Darcy shot her a look, and then the doctor for good measure, narrowing her eyes.

“I’m _fine_ and I’m not leaving this room.”

-

The tense silence that followed when Steve and Darcy were alone with Bucky once more remained for close to an hour, until Darcy eventually deflated, leaning forward in her chair like Steve was and nudged his knee with hers playfully.

“Sorry.”

“You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he replied. “I can’t imagine what you’re goin’ through.”

“We were going to tell you,” she said, and Steve frowned. “I said after he went away, when you got back to New York… we wanted to invite you over and tell you.”

He was told about Nats early on because Darcy’s morning sickness was harder to hide from him that paparazzi. It was one of Steve’s happiest moments of his whole life, hearing that Nats was on her way.

“And I knew he’d been… he’d been sad, I knew he was sad, so why didn’t I tell him to stay?” she whispered.

Steve swallowed, scooping her hand up between his two and squeezing, pressing his lips to her fingers that poked through.

“He tried to kill himself, right?” she whispered, and Steve nodded. “’Cause that part I hoped I’d imagined, I hoped he…”

She began to sob, the kind of crying he hadn’t even seen her do in movies. She sounded like her chest had caved in and it was purely physical pain, her body crying out, a low moaning sound as she fell forward.

He managed to catch her, hugging her like before, the waves of shame cresting again and again.

“This is my fault.”

He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but in saying it, he knew he had to. He had to tell her he was guilty, and sorry, so fucking sorry that it came to this.

“No...”

“It’s my fault, he said – fuck, he’s in so much pain, and it’s my fault,” Steve hissed, feeling hot tears in his eyes, and he tried to push back his wrath, clutching Darcy to his chest.

“He said to me he wants to spend the rest of his life with me,” Darcy said, seeming to ignore Steve’s self-abuse. “And at the rate that we’re going…”

Steve thought of Bucky’s drunken confession.

_I don’t think there’s a Heaven. I know I’m not gonna join my pops in the sky. It’s oblivion and it’s a fuckin’ comfort to me, and I mean that._

“I don’t know what to do,” Steve whispered. “He was so… He was so _honest_.”

“He gets like that,” Darcy murmured, breaking away from him and wiping her eyes with her hands. “He has these rants every so often, purging himself, and then he feels so much shame he can’t stand the sight of himself.”

Steve watched as she looked over at Bucky, her throat bobbing.

“I don’t know what he’s gonna do when he wakes up,” she murmured. “But if I wasn’t here, that’d be on me.”

Steve would have argued Bucky wouldn’t do that to Darcy, but he also knew that it was the same man that wanted to die, convinced he’d be doing his family a favour.

“Like, what if he just jumps out the window?” she whispered. “Maybe if we were in the desert, he’d have to try to outrun me.”

She sounded like she was talking to herself.

“No sharp shit, I’d have to make sure he had nothing to tie up, either. And only a small house, with no ledges. I mean, he could probably buy a gun, too…”

She trailed off, putting her thumb nail in her mouth to chew on, her stare endless.

“Darce.”

“Hmm.”

“We won’t let it happen,” he said. “Between the two of us, we’ll stop him.”

“He used to take a lot of Xanax,” she murmured, and Steve’s lips parted. “When… when he was in hospital after the time he got clipped by that car in downtown L.A., it was after we broke up.”

She gnawed her nail, shivering.

“Yeah, I remember,” Steve murmured.

“He broke out of there and had a duffel bag of pills in a hotel room. He ghosted everyone for six days.”

“Yeah.”

Darcy drew in a breath, blinking as she looked him in the eye.

“So you should know that if he can get drugs, he’s gone. And he can get them prettily easily. People are more than happy to give him a bar or a whole bottle,” she said. “He used to take Xanax for his insomnia, but he stopped after… after…”

She sucked in another breath, sharper, wincing.

“How do we convince him we can’t survive without him?”

“I dunno, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, rubbing her arm.

It was bizarre, knowing they were right next to Bucky but his mind was lightyears away, and there was probably no reaching him to tell him how they felt.

And it was true, Steve was completely lost without Bucky, and always had been. He hated when he left Brooklyn, because it meant he couldn’t be there in case Bucky wasn’t okay. Steve had never known him when he wasn’t affected by his mental illness or the loss of his father.

As Bucky looked after him in school, Steve wished he’d been able to do the same, but he never did. He clearly hadn’t made him feel appreciated enough, for him to do this to himself.

A voice in his head tried to remind him that family was why Bucky wanted to leave them behind in the first place. He didn’t want to be a burden anymore.

Sitting with Darcy now, he had to acknowledge that Bucky had always accepted him for who he was, and he’d never thought he was a hassle. He gladly fought for him, for years and years. He knew he’d do it again. For the first time in hours, he thought of work, taking out his phone to see its battery was flat.

“You seen any of the news?” he said to Darcy, and she shook her head.

“Not since I was on the plane before take-off,” she replied, and she ducked down to grab her phone from her handbag, taking it out to switch it back on. “Shit, I should call Judie.”

She got up, hesitating as Steve watched her calculate what time it was in New York, and then she dialled the number.

“Hey, Judie. He’s okay. Yeah, he’s okay. Steve’s with me.”

Steve did not want to talk to Judith. He had no idea what he could say to make anything better.

“Don’t watch TV. Don’t go on the internet. Don’t talk to anyone but me, okay?”

He listened as Darcy went on, being brave, downplaying it despite the huskiness in her voice.

“He’s going to be okay. I promise.”

She hung up with a little gasp, hugging herself.

“Hey,” Steve said, and she looked over. “You should get some sleep.”

She shook her head. “They didn’t have a spare bed, or a cot…”

“No, I mean –”

He got up, then moved the two chairs to fit them together.

“We’ll get a blanket…”

“What about you? Where’re you meant to sit?” Darcy asked, and Steve shook his head.

“I’m gonna go back to Stephen’s and get some stuff, come back with decent coffee if there’s any in this whole state,” he muttered, and Darcy gave a weak little smile. “But I doubt it, since I’ve been here long enough… I’ll get toothbrushes and clothes, and… maybe a book or two.”

Darcy pressed her lips together, nodding, and Steve was glad she didn’t argue or offer him money to pay for it, because he wanted to be a use to someone finally, instead of feeling sorry for himself.

-

Steve caught a cab back to Strange’s house, and being back on the driveway after last night made it hard to move, like he was rooted to the spot with the memories of Bucky’s attempt to fight him off, both of them crying.

He pushed through it, walking up to the entrance where Wanda stood, her hair up as her phone was to her ear. She had on her agent voice, and her nails were ruined like Darcy’s had become, the dark polish chipped as she let Steve pass through.

She patted his arm as Steve walked down the corridor, listening out for any signs of Strange and finding none. He wasn’t overly concerned, he knew that the Brit would never be truly offended by anything Bucky said about them. Those two seemed to be glued to one another in a wordless understanding, since the day they met.

Steve stopped dead in front of the bathroom door that stood ajar, the same room where Bucky was last night, slumped over and unresponsive.

Steve shut the door quietly, hearing Wanda say something about a statement to whomever she spoke to, and he knew he could trust her, like he always had, with keeping Bucky’s interests at heart. He was relieved that the press hadn’t found much more. The rumors were rampant online, as always, but Steve knew there was a tiny window they had to take advantage of.

The window was closing, and soon Bucky would be overwhelmed by the aftermath, since the press would be relentless, and RKB would be demanding him going to work in the New Year. They needed to move Bucky away before people worked out where he was being held.

**_Have you got security yet?_ **

He texted it to Darcy, using Bucky's cell phone, on his cab ride over, and she had replied that Wanda had already confirmed they were arriving within the hour. He knew Darcy hadn’t planned on staying, not knowing how debilitated Bucky was when Steve first called her from the hospital.

The sense of a scramble surrounding him made Steve race through a shower, scrubbing everything and leaving the shadow on his face in his haste. He pulled on clothes and packed up his bag, ducking out to find Strange standing in his robe, his nose looking just as sore as before.

“I’m out, I’m staying at the hospital with Darce,” he said, and Strange began to follow him out.

“How is she?” he asked, and Steve shrugged, unsure of how to describe it. “Right. How’s Bucky?”

“He’s in a coma,” Steve replied. “And his heart rate’s scarin’ everyone.”

Strange’s eyes fell to Wanda as they walked outside. She was still on the phone, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Exactly, so could we – could we please not be indelicate about this? James is not able to speak for himself right now, but I know he’d want none of his family dragged into this…”

Steve rose a hand to say goodbye but she lifted a finger, mouthing ‘wait’ as he stopped in front of her, Strange hanging back with Wanda. She hung up her phone.

“If RKB try to call you, don’t answer,” she said. “Not without Hope present, or me. If they somehow talk to you, tell them you’re recording the conversation and then record it, okay?”

“Why?” Steve asked, dreading the answer.

“Why are you in with these sharks?” Strange said, and Wanda shot him a look.

“Steve, do as I say. And I think there’s press at Barker now. You might need an escort.”

“Fuck that,” Steve said. “I’m going to CVS and then I’m getting into that hospital, even if I have to scale the side of the building.”

He took off down the driveway as Wanda called after him:

“Would you please be careful? And _sleep?!”_

-

Steve managed to get back to Darcy after he called ahead at reception and named the doctor overseeing Bucky’s duty of care. He squeezed past a crowd beginning to gather in the emergency entrance. There were people with phones, microphones and cameras yelling after him when he was led inside by a nurse and into the corridor to grab an elevator.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Steve said, and the new nurse, a blonde woman chewing gum gave a little shrug.

“I think the last time we were this busy, Leonardo was here with a fractured toe ten years ago.”

“Did you hear any news?” Steve asked, and she shook her head.

“Nothing, hon. He hasn’t woken up.”

Steve walked back into Bucky’s room and dropped his bags on the floor, and he knelt to take things out, like the toothbrush he promised Darcy, placing it on her lap as she awoke.

“Jesus, I fell asleep,” she mumbled, sounding vaguely surprised.

“I got some magazines, some candy bars,” Steve said, putting the CVS bag next to the toothbrush, and she began to dig inside, lifting up a Snickers bar.

“I’ll give this to him when he wakes up,” she murmured.

“Darce, the nurse said –”

“I know, I’m just joking around,” she said, sounding sadder.

She tore open the bar and bit into it, her eyes swinging to Bucky’s unconscious form. She swallowed, distracted by her phone that she pulled out from under her blanket.

“Outside of RKB,” she murmured, and Steve looked up from the books he was taking out of another bag.

On Darcy’s phone, he could see a picture of the RKB building. There was a pile of flowers, papers and cards surrounding the entrance.

“There’s a gigantic pile of cards and flowers outside our apartment building, too,” she murmured. “I wish Bucky could see it, that people care.”

She rolled her eyes, sniffling.

“He’d probably hate it, actually,” she said, giving a wet laugh.

Steve’s lips quirked and he nodded. Darcy cried softly, but moved toward him, pulling him into a hug and kissed his cheek. He held her for a few minutes, closing his eyes.

“Do you want this?” she said, trying to hand him the Snickers bar. “I don’t want it anymore. If you don’t mind my germs.”

“S’okay,” he whispered, taking it from her.

It tasted too sweet, but he ate it anyway, as Darcy picked up a magazine and flipped it open, not reading. Steve remained standing by the bed, his eyes slipping down to Bucky’s hand that lay flat on the bed. He wasn’t like that earlier, and he suspected Darcy had pulled his hand toward her to squeeze when she was alone with him.

“I charged your phone a little,” Darcy said, putting the magazine down with a little sigh. She made a soft grunting sound and Steve looked at her, frowning.

She shook her head.

“It’s cramps, I’m fine. The nurses are asking about me now, thanks to you,” she muttered.

There was no venom to her tone, and she even smiled at little at him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and she shook her head again, shushing him.

“No, come on. Don’t do that,” she said, and he nodded. “We love you. None of this is your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either,” he said, instead of arguing though he wanted to.

She said nothing to that, handing his phone that she detached from the charger behind her. He unlocked it and saw there were a couple missed calls from Eric.

“I should call…”

Darcy burst into a smile and Steve mirrored her a little, unable to stop himself. Despite how wretched he felt, there was a comfort in knowing that Eric was there for him, on the other side of the country.

He slipped out into the corridor, giving the guard whose name was Lenny a quick nod, as he put his phone to his ear and heard the dial tone.

After several rings, there was a shuffling sound and then:

“Hey, baby.”

He could picture Eric’s smile and longed to see him in person, to reach out and touch him and be kissed. He felt his eyes sting.

“Hey,” he breathed. “How are you? How’s Zero?”

“We’re okay. How’s Bucky and Darcy?” Eric asked.

Steve explained about the coma and Bucky’s elevated heart rate, and that he didn’t know how long he’d be there, and that the press were starting to catch on with each passing hour. By the time it was over, he felt out of breath, pacing the corridor as Lenny watched the wall opposite in silence.

“But what are you doing now?” he asked Eric. “I can’t remember what time it is over there…”

“It’s after twelve. I went back to my place to get some clothes, then I came back to yours.”

There was a beat and Steve thought maybe the phone had cut out and he pulled it away from his ear to check the display, but saw the call was still connected.

“Eric?”

“I left Jasper, I think.”

Steve went still, feeling his stomach flip.

“What?”

“I went over to get my clothes, and he was there,” Eric said, his voice sounding shakier than Steve had ever heard it before, and he was laughing nervously in between each half-sentence. “And he was upset, he wanted to know why I was running back to your place so fast, when you’re meant to be… you’re meant to be this friend of mine.”

Steve held his breath.

“Then I said I didn’t love him anymore. And I walked out. And… and I don’t think I’m going back.”

-

He finally slept after the phone call with Eric. He woke with a start when the nurse was checking Bucky’s vitals a few hours later, and Steve’s mouth felt dry and his neck hurt from the awkward angle he’d been sleeping in, but he felt less raw.

Darcy gave his hand a squeeze, her other holding Bucky’s.

Steve watched her for three days rotating around Bucky. She’d sleep with her feet up on Steve’s lap or curled in on herself with her knees drawn in. She got up to use the bathroom and even showered once, one that was maybe three minutes at the most under the water. She wore Bucky’s clothes, read by his side and took phone calls in the room.

Steve was coming in with coffee in a takeout carton from down the street when Bucky woke. He slipped into the room and shut the door partway, walking over to Darcy to hand her a cup.

“How’s the crowd?” Darcy murmured.

“Rude,” he replied, and she snorted.

And then there was a sound, like a sigh, and they both froze, their eyes snapping toward it.

“Bucky? Baby?” Darcy said, and she handed back the coffee hastily, twisting around to take Bucky’s hand.

He was mumbling something, and Steve didn’t dare move in case the spell could break, and Darcy kissed Bucky’s knuckles, waiting.

“I need a cigarette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed time to get to this. I had to wait for the time to be ready to write this. I love this universe so much, and next chapter might be a while, but thank you. Thank you for sticking with this. I love you.
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


	16. Part Sixteen: Rainbow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fucking take my heart, okay, just do it... put me out of my misery [throws it down on a plate and shoves it toward you]. Fucking... THERE.

_Two floors above the butcher_   
_First door on the right_   
_Life filled to the brim_   
_As I stood by my window_   
_And looked out on those_   
**\- "Brooklyn Roads" by Neil Diamond**

**Part Sixteen: Rainbow**

“If you smoke that whole thing, you’ll puke.”

Steve knew he sounded like a wet blanket, but he hoped that since the music was drowning out the majority of his voice, the nagging tone would mostly be erased. Bucky was in a good mood, and if Steve was right, he’d already done a line or two of something with some girls in the bathroom earlier. Steve wasn’t about to ruin his high by sounding like Judith Barnes.

“I’m good,” Bucky murmured, taking another long drag on the cigar, exhaling to the side with a cheeky smirk on his face.

One of the guys hanging around nearby wearing a backwards cap that Steve heard throw around a few slurs in the space of two minutes when they walked into the party slapped Bucky on the shoulder.

“You’re meant to be celebrating! Dude’s got his life made, now. Fuck, we should all be smoking Cubans.”

“No, thanks,” Steve said automatically, tipping back his bottle of beer. His eyes met Bucky’s across the coffee stable covered in empty bottles and several handbags. “But I’m happy for you, man.”

A shiny new contract with the biggest media conglomerate in the world, RKB Studios, and Bucky was about to sign for _The Winter Soldier_. Steve remembered when Bucky used to have no fixed address and he’d be lucky to hear from him once a month. Now, he was looking at houses, girls were climbing over one another to get to him, and Bucky was giving money away like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He had a sheen of sweat on his face and exposed neck but he seemed happy, his eyes bright with mirth when his friend Alexis whispered to him, her hand on his thigh. She looked like a kind of model that was built in a lab somewhere, every feature of her body and face so exquisite that Steve didn’t know how Bucky managed to speak to her, but he figured he was a good actor, and maybe he was used to the attention.

Steve knew he’d be done with her within the month, such was Bucky’s habit. He hadn’t changed since high school in that respect, except the girls seemed to be staying around the same age and stage. Eighteen year-olds when Bucky was now ten years older. Steve supposed it meant something, and maybe Bucky had peaked in maturity years ago. It made his heart sink a little, since he was sure that if Bucky stayed in Brooklyn, Hollywood wouldn’t have changed him.

The scary part wasn’t actually the girls or the drugs. It was how Bucky seemed to transform by the hour, as if his moods could change within a couple breaths. What scared Steve was the lack of warmth over time. He’d only been visiting L.A. for two days and had seen Bucky go from near euphoria to complete despondency multiple times, and it didn’t matter what he put into his body, it was clear that Bucky was not okay.

Many hours later, a couple girls, minus Alexis who’d left the party in a huff, joined Steve and Bucky in an impromptu road trip to the Hollywood sign to watch the sun rise. They got to the top and sat on the ground, another cigar between Bucky’s fingers as his eyes scanned the sloping scene below.

“I fucking hate this town,” he muttered, despite the view of a postcard sunrise, something that people faked in movies that cost millions upon millions of dollars to make.

He spat on the ground, scuffed at the mess his made with his boot and turned his heel to walk away. The two girls, whose names would be lost to time, exchanged a glance and then looked at Steve.

“What’s his problem?” one of them said, scrunching her perfect nose.

Steve didn’t know how to answer that.

-

Steve got into the routine of the afternoon visit so much that he often didn’t have to think about it anymore when he moved through the foyer doors and approached the iPad to sign in. He used to notice the music, but now it was something he tuned out, along with the sound of the water feature by the receptionist desk.

He nodded at a familiar face of Michael, a Latino male nurse, who was leaving. Steve’s brows rose slightly at his backpack on his shoulder.

“I swapped my shift. Need to get some Christmas shopping down with the wife,” he explained, and Steve gave a little smile. “Yeah, laugh it up, Brooklyn. You know I’d rather be babysitting these spoiled assholes…”

He was joking. Steve knew Michael cared a lot about Bucky, and everyone else he looked after. Michael gave him a pat on his shoulder as he passed, murmuring:

“He’s out back in his chair.”

“Thanks, man,” Steve said.

He walked out into the courtyard, peering down the long row of marble pillars as he searched for Bucky, finding him beside another patient in a chair, chatting away. As Steve approached, he could hear Bucky talking, his voice slower than it used to be, rough for many reasons other than the cigarette he was smoking.

The man beside him was much older, his skin like a raisin and laughing at something he said.

There was that twinkle in Bucky’s eye, and he stopped talking, slowly turning in his chair to stand up. The other man copied him, shaking Bucky’s hand as he began to shuffle back inside.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky said, and Steve moved toward him, pulling him into a hug.

Steve was sure he’d lost weight but because he’d seen Bucky every day for the last month he hadn’t noticed it until he saw another article online with an older picture of him, when he was stepping out of the gym a few weeks ago, trying to gain all that muscle as fast as possible.

He felt smaller, and soft in Steve’s arms, his clothes loose and comfortable. He always wore grey lounge wear and no shoes, his feet and bare arms darker from the sun.

As Steve pulled back, Bucky gave a little smile, cocking his chin.

“You got my book?”

“That all I’m good for?” Steve retorted, and they both sat down in the chairs.

He passed the carrier bag he was holding to Bucky, who took out the copy of a Raymond Chandler book and passed the empty bag back.

Steve knew Bucky couldn’t keep the bag. It was one of the rules, along with stricter restrictions Bucky used to follow when he first got there. Though the days were blending, when Bucky first got there, he wasn’t left alone, not for a minute.

Steve thought it was harsh but necessary, since Bucky had in fact tried to escape twice since he was admitted. He chose to stay when Darcy found out about it. He didn’t get that far anyway, not without shoes or money in the desert.

Bucky turned the book over and thumbed through the pages.

“You read this? Or you seen the movie?” Bucky muttered, tucking an unlit cigarette between his lips and lit it. “If you haven’t –”

“Yeah, I know I should,” Steve said, rolling his eyes a little. “God, not everyone can watch as many movies as you.”

“They should,” Bucky muttered, taking a deep drag. “But I’m sure when I try to get through this later I’ll wish I asked for the DVD.”

In the beginning of his treatment, Bucky barely spoke and slept almost constantly. He was gaining more energy, but he was like an old man, easily worn out and prone to napping upright. Bucky put the book aside, his eyes resting on Steve’s face, who was watching a bird fly over the grounds.

“How’s Darce?”

“She’s okay,” Steve replied.

Bucky had asked her not to come as often as Steve. It was a painful thing, watching the wife of his best friend struggle to hold back what she wanted for Bucky’s sake. She’d been to the facility several times, and was staying in a little house only a few miles away with baby Nats. Steve had taken the spare room. He and Darcy took turns with the bad days. Steve knew today was a better one for him, so he expected Darcy to be tearful when he returned to her in a couple hours.

“She sounded okay this morning,” Bucky murmured.

Steve tried to not recall the arguments he’d overheard, but they stuck with him just the same, because they were so raw. Bucky and Darcy fought hard but loved harder.

“Is Ma stayin’ with you?” Bucky asked, and Steve nodded.

“I’m picking her up from town tonight.”

Judith had threatened a visit, ever since Darcy flew back to New York to get Nats and then move with Bucky to Nevada. Everything was dropped for Bucky, and rightly so. In the highly unlikely scenario of Darcy going back to work while Bucky was in hospital, Steve knew he’d never speak to her again. He was reminded constantly that she was exactly the wife Bucky needed, because she did everything for him without hesitation.

“She’s gonna be pissed,” Bucky rasped, and Steve nodded.

She’d be scared, more likely. She’d think this place was weird, way too calm and expensive. Poor Judith would most likely come back from her visit and tell Steve he had to get Bucky out of there, because she would hate to see her son like this, smaller and slower, like he’d lost a physical fight.

He was slower because he hadn’t recovered. He was on new drugs he hadn’t told Steve about in detail. Steve knew the façade had been stripped away when he’d woken up from his coma. He was being the most honest he ever had been, because there was little choice in the matter.

Bucky did a lot of staring into empty spaces, which Steve was used to, but now he knew what Bucky was capable of when he got into a spiral.

Bucky still hadn’t cried, not since he told Steve he wanted to die.

There had been plenty of tears from Steve, but none in front of Bucky. Like Darcy, he didn’t want to pile on more, because he knew the pressure Bucky was feeling was immeasurable. The whole world seemed determined to not let him rest.

“She’ll be okay,” Steve said eventually.

-

As he had predicted, when Judith returned from her visit to the facility, she was in tears, trembling as Steve poured her water in the kitchen while Darcy fed Nats in her high chair.

“You need to get him out of there, Steve,” she said, when she managed to compose herself.

Steve heard Darcy sigh softly, a private admission that her mother-in-law’s advice was not welcome, not in this instance. He looked over at Darcy, who was holding the spoon of applesauce for Nats, her jaw clenching.

“It’s the best place for him right now,” he said, as gently as possible.

“He could barely stand,” Judith retorted. “I never liked him being pumped full of drugs in the first place –”

“He was taking one pill, once a day,” Darcy muttered, not looking their way.

“Well it evidentially didn’t help!” Judith said, her arms wide. “If he was miserable because of them.”

“He was miserable either way, but he was worse without any drugs at all,” Darcy snapped, no longer able to keep quiet. She stood up, surprising Nats and Judith. “They helped level him out –”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Judith said, with a half-laugh, sounding exasperated. “Am I the only one who sees my boy wasting away to nothin’, while everyone else is acting like this is perfectly normal? He’s going to _kill himself_ –”

Darcy scooped up Nats and snatched the bowl of applesauce, Judith’s sentence falling away. They watched as she stalked out of the room, disappeared into her bedroom and shut the door. After several seconds of the silence that followed, Judith let out a shaky breath and Steve turned to her.

“We’re doing whatever he needs,” he murmured. “This is what he needs.”

Every week, Bucky’s therapist Betty Ross was driving up from L.A. He was having constant care from the nurses that watched him day and night. Steve was seeing him every day, and every second day, he saw Nats with Darcy, and every day he was talking to Darcy on the phone.

He wasn’t alone, he couldn’t be alone.

“What if he tries to run away again?” Judith asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Steve didn’t know she knew about that and he felt himself deflate, briefly shutting his eyes.

“Steve…”

“I dunno,” he admitted, feeling useless. “He said he wouldn’t again.”

“But I know him better, I know he’s a liar,” she retorted. “God…”

She gave him a little wave, her tears spilling over some more. Steve went to reach out, to pull her into a hug, but she shook her head, pressing her lips together as she tried to compose herself.

“He wants to stay with the inpatient program,” Steve said, and she nodded. “We have to… we have to respect that, Judith.”

He watched her nod and swallow, waving still like she didn’t want to succumb to the tears. She swiped at them, irritated.

“God, I hate the heat,” she said, and Steve felt his lips quirk despite everything. “Why couldn’t he come back to New York–?”

“He didn’t want anyone near him who knew him,” Steve said, like he’d said many times before, to Wanda and Strange, as well as Hope when he explained he’d be absent indefinitely.

He went to find Darcy sometime later, and she was tucking Nats into bed, stroking her hair. She straightened up as he slipped inside and shut the door.

“I should apologize,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

“I used to get along with her so well,” she mumbled. “I used to be fun to be around.”

“That’s not it, you’re both stressed out,” Steve said. “It’s just going to be hard for a while.”

Darcy hugged him, and he held her tight, pressing a kiss to her forehead. When they broke apart, they looked down at Nats fast asleep.

“He hasn’t put her to bed in weeks,” Darcy mumbled, her voice wobbling.

Steve knew Bucky knew that. He knew it tore him up inside, every time he said goodbye to Nats when they visited. Steve knew, as well as Darcy, that the guilt was eating him the inside. Bucky was doing an excellent job of pretending the shame hadn’t got to him, at least until he had those escape attempts.

-

Steve had to fly back to New York. He promised Bucky he’d be back as soon as possible. He’d only be gone a few days, but he felt like he was abandoning his best friend all the same.

“Okay,” Bucky said. It was all he said, when Steve explained he wouldn’t be coming tomorrow.

It was Wednesday. He’d be back Saturday.

He hugged Bucky goodbye, his chest feeling tight when he walked out of the front office a few minutes later.

When he reached the airport the following morning, he broke down in the bathroom, unable to breathe. He hadn’t been like this in years, when he was remembering Sarah’s death over and over again. He took out his phone and dialed Eric’s number, pressing his head against the stall wall as he waited for him to pick up.

“Hey.”

“I can’t breathe.”

If he startled Eric by this admission, Steve couldn’t possibly know, because he seemed to take it in his stride.

“You wanna talk about it -?”

“No,” Steve cut him off. “Just distract me a second.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you about the epic fur ball Zero left for me on the bathroom floor last night when I came by.”

Within a few minutes, Steve was okay for the most part, but it didn’t stop him from checking the news the second he was able to on the plane after take-off. He dreaded anything about Bucky popping up, and saw nothing.

Zero leapt into his arms when he opened the front door, and he kissed his head, cuddling.

“I missed you, buddy,” he whispered, because he truly had.

Eric was out, and Steve was running on a different time, his brain fried from the flight and everything else in between. He went to his fridge and saw there wasn’t a lot there, but he didn’t feel like going out.

Eric arrived with a pizza box and beers and Steve’s heart leapt at the sight of him when he opened the front door, Zero racing over to greet him.

Eric walked over, Zero circling him and rubbing his legs, holding the food and six-pack, and Steve was up from the couch, closing in on him.

“Hey,” Eric breathed.

He would have been embarrassed, but it was Eric who held him when he began to weep, the food put aside with the beers on the coffee table. Eric folded his arms around him and Steve buried his face in his neck, gripping him tight.

He’d spoken to Eric many times on the phone since Bucky had woken up, but he knew he’d spared him some of what he’d been feeling, because he was so far away. He didn’t want to lean too much on him, like he was doing now. He couldn’t seem to stop it.

When Eric called him ‘baby’, kissed his face and let him cry, it only made Steve feel more overwhelmed, because he knew he loved him, he knew he’d been in love for a while and it was terrifying to him, letting someone get this close, letting another man be this close to him.

Eric tilted his head to meet his when Steve pulled back from their embraced, and Steve kissed him hard, steering him away from the couch, away from Zero and down the hall to his bedroom.

They didn’t talk, not unless Steve’s desperate ‘I missed you’s counted, their clothes pulled off as he acted like a downright animal, seeking a release and hoping to God Eric wasn’t about to turn him away for coming on too strong. Eric couldn’t keep the needy plea out of his moans as Steve made love to him.

By the time it was over, Steve felt light-headed and strange, like he’d ripped away something. He felt exposed, watching Eric watching him, and he knew all he could do was wait for some sign that he hadn’t fucked this up.

“I love you,” Eric said, brushing his hand over Steve’s face, their legs tangled together. “I _love_ you.”

Steve swallowed, nodding.

“I love you,” he echoed.

As the night went on, everything kept shifting. They ate reheated pizza with the lukewarm beer in bed. They had sex, finished, had sex again. They talked about Jasper.

“He hates me,” Eric whispered. “He hates me for doing this to him. Not because he loves me still, he knows this screws up everything. He didn’t want anything to change.”

Steve stroked his back idly.

“I know some good lawyers –”

“I got one, I’m fine, baby,” Eric murmured, chuckling a little. “Mine’s a gay divorce attorney, can you believe it? Apparently all types of love are dead, not just the heteronormative crap…”

Steve smiled slowly, his eyelids feeling heavy. Eric turned in his arms, rubbing his cheek with a thumb. Steve felt the gesture seep into his skin and down to his heart, sucking in a breath a moment later to steady himself.

“They had to, uh, take away his shoes,” he murmured, his throat dry. “The shoelaces.”

“Right,” Eric murmured back.

“He – he didn’t even shower alone for the first two weeks,” he added, his voice actually cracking at the end. “He’s been growing his beard ‘cause they won’t let him have razors, obviously. He told me he got sick of them watching him go to the bathroom…”

“Steve,” Eric said, and Steve felt his eyes sting again.

“I dunno what to tell him,” he gasped. “W-what I’m meant to say to make it better. I dunno how to convince him he’s gonna be okay…”

He was crying again, and Eric kissed his face, held him to his chest, as Steve felt each new wave of despair. He couldn’t pretend anymore, that he was more put-together than he actually was.

He knew he had trauma, like Bucky did. Bucky’s trauma just started earlier in life, and in a way, he didn’t really have a childhood because of it.

“You’re there for him,” Eric murmured. “And he loves you.”

“It’s not enough,” Steve whispered. “It’s not. I can’t save him…”

He’d never admitted it out loud, that it had been his intention to do so for so many years. He was so desperate for it that he didn’t know how to talk about it.

He was such a mess he didn’t remember falling asleep, and he woke hours later with Eric beside him, his head aching from crying so much the night before.

-

On the trip back to Reno, Steve had a meeting with RKB.

He went with Hope straight from the airport, neither of them intending on staying on. He felt sick, thinking about how they’d spin this into another thing to hold over Bucky’s head. The media had died down a little since it was shared that Bucky was virtually in hiding, but the tributes outside the RKB building had grown so large that there was a barrier surrounding it with security guards all hours of the day.

He and Hope walked past the sea of flowers, teddy bears, cards and signs, Steve’s nerves spiking when they reached the front desk.

They were greeted by a young, blonde white woman with long legs and sparkling veneers that showed them through to the same boardroom Steve had been in months ago when he first met the studio execs. They were all there, Kennedy, Allen and Burbaker. They had varying degrees of false concern on their faces. There was no genuine warmth to their eyes, only tiny dollar signs he could just make out in their pupils.

“Steve, we have to clear some things up,” Kennedy said.

He was the first to speak, like in their last meeting.

“We’re concerned that some things may have got lost in translation,” he added.

There was a pause and Steve let his eyes wander across the three men, his frown deepening with his growing confusion.

“What things?” Hope said, leaning on the glass table.

“The concern we have is about the contract Steve signed,” Kennedy went on. “We had several clauses about the image of the company.”

Steve thought they’d asked him in there for some type of interrogation, since Bucky was refusing to budge from Nevada, protected from an entire state line plus the hospital and miles and miles of desert.

“This isn’t about James Barnes?” Hope said, and Kennedy finally looked at her, his brows shifting slightly upward.

“This is about Steve’s script not being family-friendly.”

“What?” Steve snapped. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Allen, the man in the middle, rose a bejeweled hand.

“Now, wait a minute, son –”

“No,” Steve snapped, and he was balling his hands into fists. “You demand I take the time out of my family’s struggles to… to scold me for what I wrote? When I was allowed to do whatever I wanted?”

He knew it was never going to be like that, but they had granted him full creative control. He thought that there may be some snags, but he’d finished the first draft months early. He knew the buzz surrounding it meant they’d already make a shitload of money.

“Son, it was always going to be revised, every script is,” Kennedy said, and Steve clenched his jaw.

He took a deep breath and let it go, glancing between the men.

“Whatever issue you have, tell me it’s not that I made him gay,” he said.

Burbaker tutted, while Kennedy’s mouth spread into a snide grin. Allen looked irritated. He knew that it was naïve to assume they’d be fine with that particular creative decision, along with his suggestions for a more diverse choice of director.

“It’s a family business, Steve,” Allen said.

“America’s gay,” Steve said. “It is. It ain’t straight.”

And maybe he’d just had enough, of the pushing back he’d been guilty of for so long, but being vulnerable wasn’t a trap. He knew it to his very core that being himself was essential to his own survival. It was the same with anyone.

“We don’t care about that,” Burbaker said, sounding tired. “We care what it looks like.”

“That it looks like someone’s doing something different? Isn’t that what you wanted? Young blood?” Hope said, and all men but Steve glared at her. “We need this, gentlemen. We need this now, more than ever.”

“Your personal views don’t come to work,” Kennedy snapped. “This is a company, and there are jobs and lives at stake.”

“My best friend tried to kill himself and you’re talking about money, that’s all,” Steve said. “And it never was about making him a star because you saw talent in him. It always bothered you that he had integrity, and that he wanted more. He wanted something _real_.”

“This is real!” Kennedy retorted. “That two million you got is real. The contracts you signed were real.”

“You’re doin’ this,” Steve said, and he stood up, Hope following him. “Because if you don’t, he’s not gonna come back. Not even for a hundred million dollars.”

He knew that figure stuck out, since it’s what they tried to sue Bucky for years ago. The other men rose from their chairs.

“I’m done asking for permission,” he said, and he walked out with Hope beside him.

-

“What do you think about me coming out for Christmas?” Bucky said.

He broke a pleasant silence between them, as Steve watched a nurse moving another patient around by the arm in the afternoon sun, while Bucky chain-smoked beside him in their matching chairs. His bare feet were propped up, his legs crossed at the ankle.

Steve glanced his way. “That’d be amazing.”

“Christmas in… New York?” Bucky added.

He was speaking a little faster, since Steve got back from the little trip. Steve stared at him now, and Bucky gave a little self-satisfied smirk.

“Bucky…”

“So, ya made him gay,” he murmured, and Steve watched him light another cigarette before he took a deep drag he exhaled through his nose.

Their eyes met and Steve felt warmth bloom in his chest.

“Any problem with that?”

“Fuck, no,” Bucky said instantly. “It makes fuckin’ sense. Does he get laid?”

Steve snorted. “No.”

“Does he get a kiss at least? Poor guy deserves somethin’, for all the torture…”

He must have heard the story about Steve’s little outburst with the execs from Darcy, who was currently sitting on a little patch of grass with Wanda and Nats, playing with toys as they lay on the blanket in the sun.

“Sam said the same thing,” Steve murmured.

“You told that fucker about the script? He could tell anyone,” Bucky chuckled.

Steve smiled at him, then ducked his head, shaking it. “I really don’t give a shit.”

It felt so good, to be this honest in a way that didn’t mean people were getting hurt anymore. Bucky stretched, groaning a little.

“I wanna freeze my balls off for New Years, like always,” Bucky went on, then rubbed his eye. “Betty said to do what feels safe.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Steve said.

Bucky glanced over at the girls together in the sun and something passed over his face, something heavy, and Steve watched him push it aside, another smile forming, muted but still there.

“Stevie,” he said.

He looked right at Steve then.

“I love you the most, too.”

Steve nodded, reaching to squeeze his shoulder.

“I know…”

“But I’m sick,” Bucky whispered. “I’m real sick, and I can’t… I can’t think like you do. I’m damaged, man. I’m tryin’. But it’s fucking hard…”

“I know,” Steve whispered, rubbing him. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry we had years apart.”

“You fuckin’ idiot,” Bucky said, a wet laugh escaping him. “I pushed you away.”

Steve let him speak, because he didn’t think they’d get this far, not for years. He realized he’d waited so long to hear this.

“I know it’s a lot for me to ask of you, but… you need to trust me,” he whispered. “You need to trust that I’m not gonna try this again. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “Yeah, okay.”

“And I broke Darce’s heart –”

“Buck –”

“It’s true,” Bucky said. “She’ll never say it, but can you imagine what Nats’ life woulda been like if I didn’t stay? I’d be startin’ the cycle again. So maybe that’s enough, y’know…”

He bit his lip, glancing down at his cigarette that had gone out. He mashed it in the tray beside him, turning in his chair.

“Can I meet your man, too?”

Steve stared at him, before he turned his head away to burst out laughing.

“Please don’t call him that…”

“Well, ain’t he? You need my blessing,” Bucky retorted, and Steve felt the tension cut. “He sure as shit ain’t passing the test without actually meeting me.”

-

Steve watched with Darcy as Bucky and Eric wandered off together in the distance, their breaths in front of their faces in the snow, their conversation inaudible since they were too far away.

“God, he better not hit on him,” Darcy muttered.

“Eric wouldn’t –”

“I’m not talking about Eric,” Darcy said, and Steve snorted, unable to stop himself. “Look at my husband, leaning into him and shit…”

“What, you wouldn’t?” Steve retorted, and she hit his arm playfully.

“You _know_ him being gay wouldn’t stop me.”

Steve slung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing her forehead. When the men returned, Steve asked Eric what they spoke about.

“I’m not telling you,” he whispered, and Steve tilted his head, frowning.

“What?”

“It wasn’t dirty,” Eric said. “Just… we related, on some things. Things about you.”

Steve glanced over at Darcy and Bucky, who were in between kisses and smiles, Bucky’s arms around her waist, his nose rubbing hers as she grinned up at him.

“We’re lucky to have you,” Eric said, and Steve turned back to him, his feet crunching in the snow.

He’d missed this park in Brooklyn. He didn’t think he would. He never thought he’d miss the school they walked past later, the school where he met Meg and wrote the graphic novel and movie about.

“The mural’s still there,” he said aloud, and Darcy came up beside him, gasping.

“Oh, my God. You _painted_ that?”

Steve nodded, distracted.

“Yeah, with… my friend.”

He looked over at Bucky, who was staring at the mural, too. Some patches of it were worn away, showing the bare brick wall, but there was every bold color in some instance, like it was first intended, a rainbow in Brooklyn, where it was meant to stay forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Happy Birthday Steve ❤
> 
> [my Tumblr](http://grimeysociety.tumblr.com/)


End file.
